


Edge of a Blade

by Blackprose



Series: A home that never was [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Brainwashing, Codependency, Drug Withdrawal, Dubious Consent, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Humiliation, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Praise Kink, Romance, Self-Harm, Sexual Assault, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, Yooran, Yoosung Bad End 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-10-31 19:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 63,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10905687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackprose/pseuds/Blackprose
Summary: Yoosung was the easiest member to kidnap. He was hand delivered after all, and he suddenly finds himself trapped in a house with a man he doesn't know and no escape. Seven can't find him, Yoosung is disoriented from the drugs, and this man's abrupt changes in mood might just end up killing him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please check the tags!! This fic will be pretty heavy, but it's not just torture porn.  
> The chapters alternate between Yoosung and Saeran. The Yoosung chapters are mainly written by [Ely](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ely) and the Saeran ones by [Blackprose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackprose), although we both worked on them, because it's based off a twitter roleplay we're doing!
> 
> This chapter was written by Ely

Yoosung’s head is pounding, and he can feel a throbbing pain in his arm. Is he bleeding? He can’t tell. He can feel that his body is sticky and covered in sweat, and his hair is sticking to his forehead. He tries to open his eyes, which takes more effort than it should, and his vision is fuzzy once he finally manages it. All he can see is the dim glow of… a computer screen? No, there’s more than one. Where is he? He lets out a groan and tries to shift his position, only to find that all his muscles are aching and screaming at him not to move. He blinks, desperately trying to clear his vision or at least remember _something_. The last thing he remembers is… Seven. He was in the car with Seven. He squeezes his eyes shut, groaning again.

Suddenly, he hears the sound of something crashing to the floor, and he flinches in terror which causes his muscles to scream at him again. The sound of the crash echoes through the room, and then there’s a moment of silence before he hears something. A voice. He doesn’t recognise it. He can’t quite make out the words, either. He tries to open his eyes, and he sees a figure silhouetted by the light from the computer monitors behind. Yoosung tries to speak, but coughs the first time he does, an aching pain ripping through his throat. He tries again anyway.

“Where am I?”

His voice is croaky and barely audible, but as far as he can tell, the room is silent. The person should be able to hear him.

“I’ve inducted you into paradise.”

The voice rings through the room and makes Yoosung’s head spin even faster.

Yoosung coughs again. “If this is paradise, why does everything hurt?” he asks hoarsely, his voice catching in his throat a few times as he pushes out the words. Paradise? What the hell does that mean? He can’t even remember how he got here in the first place, but… Seven. Why does he keep remembering Seven? Someone’s in trouble, but he can’t remember who, and he needs to… what does he need to do? He blinks to try and focus his vision.

He feels a hand gently touching his cheek and cradling it, the soft caress directly contradicting the terror he feels racing through him. Suddenly, his face is pushed to the floor so hard he can feel his teeth and cheekbones slam against it. He yelps in pain.

“Because it isn’t your paradise. It’s mine.” The voice is angry.

Yoosung tries to push himself up, but for some reason his left arm is aching too much to move properly.

“Why?” he asks, breathing heavily. He can’t give up, not yet. Even if he doesn’t remember much, he remembers that he’s here for a reason, and he’s determined to keep trying. “How am I part of it? Who are you?”

“Stop asking questions!” the voice shrieks and continues to put pressure on Yoosung’s face. Yoosung worries that any more pressure will break his jaw. “He’s brainwashed you, too! You’re just a spy! Anything I tell you will go right to him.”

Then, the pressure disappears and the man gets off him. Yoosung tries his best to follow him with his eyes, and he notices he’s reaching for something. He grabs for it once, twice, but it seems to be out of reach. Then Yoosung blinks, and there’s suddenly a black box with what looks like a large red button being waved in front of his face. He squints at it, and feels an answer on the tip of his tongue. That box looks familiar.

Where has he seen it before?

“Keep asking questions and she’ll die.”

Yoosung can just about make out a face when it’s this close to his. White hair? As far as he can see it’s white. And his eyes are strange… a weird blue – no, green. Yoosung blinks and tries to ignore the throbbing pain in his body. His head is spinning. Brainwashed? What does he mean? And who is this ‘him’ he seems so worried about? Yoosung knows he isn’t supposed to ask questions, but he can feel hundreds burning inside him, and he’s never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

“Who will die?” he asks.

No response. Not immediately, at least. Yoosung watches the man stand and walk to his computer desk, opening the bottom drawer and rummaging through it. The way he moves is methodical, almost mechanical at times, and Yoosung wonders what he could be searching for.

Yoosung catches sight of a black leather collar and a rope.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll make you,” the man growls.

Yoosung shuffles to put himself in a slightly better sitting position. Why can’t he remember anything?  
“Do you mean Seven?” he asks, ignoring the threat. If this guy really is serious, he wants to find out as much as he can.

The man yanks Yoosung roughly by the arm. He pulls him in close to his face, giving Yoosung a moment to focus on his eyes and see the anger and dangerous intent in them. He uses his free hand to dig his fingers into the skin of Yoosung’s useless arm, and suddenly Yoosung screams. There’s a deep pain shooting throughout his entire body from that one area, shaking him right to his core. It hurts far more than it should. Why does his arm hurt so much? What has he done to him? He tries to push him away, but it’s pointless. His limbs won’t obey him, and he’s in too much pain anyway. He only succeeds in raising his hand to the man’s shoulder, pushing once before it slips straight back off again.

“S-stop!” he begs weakly.

The man sneers, a twisted, chilling smile and lowers his face to Yoosung’s as he rubs their noses together in a way that’s both terrifyingly affectionate and hauntingly threatening. Yoosung continues pushing at his shoulder, trying desperately to get away from this shooting pain. The man instantaneously reels back and slaps Yoosung across the face. The impact makes Yoosung yelp in shock, and his entire body jerks.

“Don’t ever fucking touch me,” the man snarls, then he lifts his hand and gingerly rubs the area he slapped with the back of his fingers. “Do you understand, dog?”

The man’s hand is soft on his face. It stands out among the pain, and Yoosung blinks in confusion, trying to focus on his face. Who is this guy?

“D-dog?” Yoosung stammers.

In response, the man lifts the leather collar he’s holding and wraps it around Yoosung’s neck, clicking it into place. It’s tight, and Yoosung is struggling to breathe anyway. His growing panic creates a lump that blocks his airways. He can’t tell if it’s the lump or the collar that’s worse, and he starts coughing uncontrollably from lack of air.

“You’re my pet now.” The man sounds like he’s stating a fact, and it sends a chill right through to Yoosung’s core.

He tries desperately to stop coughing. Pet? What the hell is going on? He’s starting to remember things, but it’s all… fuzzy. Like the memories are just slightly out of reach, too far away for him to quite grab hold of.

“Who are you?” Yoosung croaks. He doesn’t even know why he’s bothering to ask. If he had any sense, he’d shut up now. But, if this is the end for him, he wants to at least die with answers. Maybe then it’ll feel less pointless.

“Sleep now,” the man purrs, and Yoosung feels his hands wrap around his neck. The voice is oddly comforting, and reminds Yoosung of an off-key music box. It’s wrong, but eerily soothing.

“N-no, stop…” he begs. He knows he sounds pathetic, but that doesn’t matter right now. Yoosung brings up the hand he’s still able to move to try and loosen the man’s grip. He doesn’t want to pass out again. He needs to stay conscious.

He tries desperately to cling on as best as he can, but it’s quickly becoming clear it’s pointless. His arm slips down and falls beside him, and he gets one last glimpse of those mint coloured eyes before everything fades out to black and he slumps limply against the wall.

 

* * *

 

The next thing he knows, he’s choking. His body jerks and shakes and his hand flies to his neck. A… a collar? Where…?

Then he remembers where he is. Why he came here with Seven. The RFA and… MC. MC?! She’s in danger!

Yoosung pushes himself into a sitting position, realising he’s been moved to lie on some sorry excuse for a mattress on the floor. He looks up, his vision a little less blurry than before, and sees the man sitting there. “RFA,” he chokes out. “Wh-why are you trying to hurt us?”

The room is silent save for the rhythmic noise of typing as the man works on whatever he’s doing.

“Hurt you?” He laughs bitterly. “You don’t know what hurt is.”

It takes Yoosung a second to register the response.

“I… it…” Yoosung doesn’t know what to say to that. “B-but why?”

The man swivels around in his chair, and the computer appears to continue its process without him as strings of code process rapidly. As he does, his jacket sleeve falls down, and Yoosung spots a dark mass of swirls and patterns on his shoulder, stretching down his arm. A tattoo.

“Why don’t you know what hurt is?” He reaches for the rope he didn’t use earlier. “Perhaps I didn’t teach you properly.”

“Wait!” Yoosung yelps, trying to back away, but he just hits the wall behind him. “N-no! I meant, why d-do you want to hurt us?”

The man seems to think about that for a moment, tapping his lip thoughtfully before smiling wickedly and tugging at the rope. “Do I need a reason?”

The collar’s restricting his breathing, so Yoosung raises a hand to his throat to tug at it, trying to loosen it a little, but it won’t budge.

“Did you… you’re the one who l-led MC to Rika’s apartment, aren’t you?” He wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble if he didn’t have some kind of reason, and Yoosung is determined to find it.

The man stands from his computer chair and approaches Yoosung.

“Wrists together,” he commands, and waits for Yoosung to obey. “Maybe if you’re a good boy I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Is he… is he telling the truth? Yoosung wants to check – to make him promise – but he has a feeling that no matter what he does his wrists will get tied anyway. Maybe this gives him the chance to find out something. He moves his aching arms up so they’re both sitting on his lap and presses his wrists together.

Before, all he felt was pain. He didn’t have much chance to think of anything else, but now that the pain is subsiding, he can feel the absolute terror breaking through. What’s going to happen to him? His heart is slamming against his ribcage and his body is shaking with fear.

One of his arms quickly falls off his lap. He can’t let him do this. “I… I can’t,” he chokes out, and he feels tears burning in his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t want to. P-please.”

The man ignores his pleas, reaching down and roughly jerking Yoosung’s wrists, and Yoosung lets out a choked sob. He pins them together with one hand, the other working expertly with the rope, as though he does this kind of thing regularly.

“Guess you’re not a good boy, then,” the man sneers as he grabs Yoosung’s cheeks with his fingers and pinches them together. Then he abruptly stands, which causes Yoosung to fall back a little, but he keeps watching him as he reaches for a drawer.

Who _is_ he? What does he really want? He can feel the tears running down his cheeks now. He wonders what the rest of the RFA are doing. Are they coming to save him? He’s not sure exactly how long he’s been here…

He remembers MC. He remembers his love for her, even though he doesn’t have a face to put to the name. All he wants is for her to be safe. He hopes everyone else is safe, too.

“Don’t hurt them,” he says, his voice so quiet and hoarse he isn’t sure the man will hear him. The man pulls a piece of black cloth from the drawer.

“Oh? And what can you offer me in return for not hurting them?” He walks over to Yoosung and kneels before him, pushing away tears with his thumb. It sends shivers through Yoosung, and he tries to flinch away. “Because I would very much like to hurt them.” He coos, as if he’s talking to a child. The way he talks is terrifying. He sounds completely… unhinged. Like a movie villain. Not someone Yoosung ever thought he’d be facing in real life.

“I… I don’t have m-much,” he stammers. “But I… I’ll… I can… I can give you…” He tries desperately to think of something he can bargain with. “M-money?”

Laughter echoes through the room. “The RFA’s Yoosung Kim?” The man reaches forward, placing the blindfold over Yoosung’s eyes. “If I wanted money, I would have targeted Jumin Han.”

Yoosung tries to lean away. He doesn’t want his vision gone. “What _do_ you want?!” he yelps, as he turns his head any way he can to try and stop the blindfold, but he knows there’s no use. He raises his arms to try and block it, but there’s only so much he can do with his wrists tied, especially when one of his arms is little more than deadweight. The man attempts once, twice, three times to put on the blindfold before he shoves Yoosung’s hands back into his lap.

“Do you want me to hurt you?”

He stands up, blindfold clenched in one hand and knuckles turning white under the strain. He lifts his leg and stomps roughly on Yoosung’s hands and lap. Yoosung cries out in pain and tries to curl in on himself.

“P-please,” he begs. “T-tell me what you want.” It’s the not knowing that’s killing him. If he knew what this man wanted, he could figure out what he needs to do.

“Submit yourself to me. Let me own you.”

The words hang in the air for a moment.

Yoosung looks up at him in confusion, and he can still feel the tears running down his face. “O-own? But… what… what does that mean?”

The man grinds his boot a little harder into Yoosung’s constricted hands, and Yoosung yells out in pain.

“Forget the RFA. Forget your family. Join me in paradise.”

What does he _mean_? What’s ‘paradise’? He’s not making any sense. Is this really what he wants?

“Why me?”

“Because it’ll hurt him the most.” The man smiles.

“H… w-who?” Yoosung can feel himself getting more desperate. He doesn’t _understand_.

The man lifts his leg and kneels in front of Yoosung again.

“Good boys get answers,” he says, holding up the blindfold expectantly.

Yoosung looks at it. He knows he doesn’t have a choice on whether he wears it or not, but he has a choice in how it happens. He knows just letting him put it on would be best, but… that feels too much like giving up.

“Why do I need that?” he asks slowly, not taking his eyes off it. He’s carefully trying to sound like he’s not resisting. He’s just… asking.

“We’re moving,” he replies, lifting the blindfold slowly. Yoosung flinches slightly, but doesn’t push away. “It isn’t safe here.”

Moving? Does that mean Seven knows he’s here? Yoosung feels the hope inside him grow a little. Maybe if he stalls for time…

He slowly leans his head away. He needs to stay somewhere between complying and actively resisting. Maybe that way he can manage to keep an upper hand… or at least, as much of one as he can possibly have in this situation. “Why do I have to wear that if we’re moving?”

“I’m getting really fucking sick of your shit,” the man growls, dropping the blindfold and gripping hold of Yoosung’s hair tightly. He yanks hard, exposing his neck. His other hand rummages in his back pocket, and then he brandishes a switchblade, flicking it open with a metallic whoosh and holding it close enough for Yoosung to see. “I just want to take care of you. Why won’t you let me protect you?” the man says as he gently caresses Yoosung’s cheek and neck with the dull edge of the blade.

Yoosung whimpers and tries his best not to start crying again. “I… I’m s-sorry,” he stammers. The feeling of the metal on his skin is terrifying, but… it doesn’t seem like the man is planning on killing him. If he were, he would have already done it… wouldn’t he? He needs to keep stalling. “I… I’m just… I don’t like not being able to see.”

“You only need to look at me.” The man deftly rotates the blade in his hand and allows the knife to kiss Yoosung’s skin. “You don’t need anyone else. Understood?”

Yoosung tries desperately to control his breathing so he doesn’t accidentally press into the blade, but he can feel the sharp edge pressing painfully into his skin and the slight trickle of blood running down his neck.

“Then shouldn’t I know who you are?” he asks, voice barely a whisper. He looks the man directly in the eyes, searching for something… _anything_ he can use.

The man seems to consider this for a moment.

“Eventually.” He pulls the knife away and leans towards Yoosung’s neck, darting his tongue out and licking at the blood. It smears on his lips as he pulls away, and smiles at Yoosung. There’s no joy. He’s baring his teeth like a predator. “You taste like a virgin. Are you a virgin, dog?”

Yoosung wants to close his eyes or look away, but he can’t. The sight of blood on this man’s lips… _his_ blood… it’s making him feel sick to his stomach. But he can’t tear his eyes away.

“A… w-what?” Yoosung stammers, squirming a little.

The man squints at him and frowns. “Have you ever fucked anyone?”

Yoosung suddenly feels ashamed and exposed. Why does he feel ashamed? Why is this _important_? “N-no.”

The man’s eyes linger on Yoosung’s lips a moment too long before he licks the blood off his own a lets out a long sigh. He flicks the switchblade closed and sheaths it in his pocket. He loosens his grip in Yoosung’s hair, and quickly forces the blindfold on him before he has the chance to react, suddenly seeming uninterested in conversation. He forces Yoosung to his knees and hooks something onto Yoosung’s collar.

“Stay,” he commands.

The sudden changes in mood and tone are more terrifying than the knife or rope or blindfold or collar. Yoosung feels like a ragdoll being thrown around. Like… like a _pet_. That’s what he’d called him. Yoosung reaches for what was attached to his collar and… it’s a leash. It feels like it’s tied to the wall. But… it’s more like some sick, twisted game than anything else. Yoosung doesn’t _want_ to be his pet. He wants to go home.

He hears the man leave the room, and waits a few seconds to make sure he’s gone before he starts tugging at the rope around his wrists. It’s tight. Too tight for him to move his hands properly. If there were ever a time to try and escape, it would be now while he’s gone, but he’s too scared. He can’t even bring himself to raise his hands and move the blindfold for fear that the man will come back and catch him.

Yoosung doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him, but he knows he needs to keep trying. Seven will come back. And even if they move, he’ll find him. He _knows_ he will.

After what feels like hours, Yoosung finally feels his leash being unhooked and tugged roughly. He almost falls at the sudden jerking movement against his neck, and he coughs and splutters as it constricts his breathing.

“Come,” the man commands.

“W-where?”

He doesn’t respond. He just continues to tug on Yoosung’s leash, causing Yoosung to jolt forwards. He desperately tries to push himself to his feet multiple times as he’s pulled along, succeeding a few only to fall back down. His legs just aren’t listening to him right now, and it doesn’t help that he can’t see or use his hands to help him balance. The man snickers at him.

“What a useless person. No wonder she doesn’t love you.”

Yoosung freezes. “What?”

The man stops walking and steps behind him, kicking him roughly in the back. Yoosung feels his body shudder as he falls forward onto his hands and knees. He doesn’t whimper or make any noises this time. He also doesn’t make any effort to move.

“Move!” he screams.

“What do you mean, she d-doesn’t love me?”

“She’s the reason you’re here, isn’t she?” He yanks Yoosung’s collar and begins moving forward. Yoosung has no choice but to crawl behind him unless he wants to literally be dragged along the floor. “She works for me. She brought you here.”

“She doesn’t work f-for you. She… she was tricked,” he stammers desperately. “And… she didn’t… she didn’t bring me here. I came w-with Seven.”

“Who encouraged you to come, though?” the man says. He sounds almost bored.

Yoosung pauses. “Sh-she did, but… she was scared. She doesn’t work for y-you!”

“Useless and clueless,” the man snarls, and Yoosung hears a door open. “We’re going to be in a car for a while. You should go to the bathroom now.”

They’re outside. Yoosung can feel the cold air biting his skin, and it feels both refreshing and like it’s slicing through him at the same time. “W-what?” Is he going to untie him?

“Well? Do you want to or don’t you? Because this naïve act is getting stale.”

Yoosung gulps. “Where can I go?”

Suddenly, the leash is yanked and Yoosung is dragged again until they finally come to a stop.

“Here is fine.” Yoosung feels his ankles being tied together, and then his wrists are untied. “But don’t try anything.” There’s a click, and Yoosung feels something pressing against the back of his head.

He feels his blood run cold. Is that a gun? “R-right here?” he stammers. He’s supposed to go in front of him? With his blindfold still on? “C-can I take the blindfold off?”

“I’m sure you know where everything is.” The voice is even.

Yoosung can feel a lump in his throat, but he’s determined not to cry. “I d-don’t know where I am. Are… are you going to watch me?” He sounds pathetic and he knows it, but he… he can’t do this, no matter how badly he needs to.

“Does it matter?” Yoosung feels the gun press harder into his head. “Hurry the fuck up.”

He lets out a sudden sob. “I d-don’t want you to watch,” he chokes out. He doesn’t know why this matters so much to him. He just wants to retain _some_ part of himself. He wants to be in control of _something_.

“Is this all you do? Cry? You’re useless and pathetic and weak. Just fucking go, or I’ll make you.”

Make him? How… what does that mean? Yoosung’s shaking so badly now that he can’t undo his pants. He doesn’t _want_ to. Not in front of him. “P-please can… can you just… l-look away?”

The gun is abruptly lifted from Yoosung’s head, and he hears three footsteps getting further away. Yoosung lets out a sob of relief. Even though he knows it’s probably still pointed at him, it’s a little less terrifying now that it’s not pressed against his head.

Yoosung manages to steady his hands and undo his pants, and he pulls them down just enough, along with his underwear. He knows the man’s probably still watching him, but he tries to trick himself into thinking that’s not the case.

It takes him a while to actually pee. Even though he needs to, just the terror of a gun being pointed at him is enough to make it difficult. Eventually, he manages too, and he pulls up his underwear and pants and fumbles with the zipper and buttons to do them up.

“Good boy.” Yoosung feels a hand patting his head, ruffling his hair almost affectionately. In spite of himself, Yoosung feels his body shoot through with a weird warmth at the praise. He _liked_ it. He immediately wants to throw up at the thought. “Wrists together.”

He knows there’s no point resisting. It’s not like he can run, anyway. He slowly moves his arms until his wrists are together, closing his eyes even though he already can’t see. He tries desperately to stop his body shaking with sobs. He doesn’t want to leave this place. Seven knows he’s here, but… if he stalls any longer, he could get killed.

The man reties the wrist bindings and unties his ankles so Yoosung can walk. Then he feels a light tugging on the leash. He’s surprised at how gentle it is.

“Time to go.” The voice is suddenly soft and… almost soothing. Is this what happens when Yoosung does as he says without complaining? “I’ll keep you safe.”

Now that the man is being slower, he has less trouble balancing, although he still stumbles. “S-safe from what?”

Yoosung hears what sounds like a car door opening, and a hand pushes Yoosung’s head down and guides him inside.

There’s a pause, and then the whirring noise of an engine.

As the car begins to move, the man sighs. “The world is an awful place. Paradise is utopia. I’ll keep you safe until we can get there.”

Yoosung slumps down in the seat. The way he speaks… he can’t _actually_ believe this, can he? “Why is the world awful?” Yoosung asks quietly, voice barely audible.

“Because it’s full of selfish people who are only interested in themselves,” the man recites as if he’s learned it by heart and said it a thousand times before. “Magenta is where we can achieve our true selves.”

Yoosung tries to swallow, but his mouth is dry. “But… not everyone is selfish,” he whispers.

“I’ve never seen evidence of that.”

Yoosung frowns. “But why are you taking _me_? I… aren’t I a selfish person only interested in myself?”

“You’ll learn from us at paradise.”

The car speeds up.

He’ll learn. All this is so confusing, and he doesn’t think it’s just because his brain is fuzzy right now. “Who’s ‘us’?”

“The saviour and the other members.”

“The saviour…” Yoosung mumbles. Of course, he’s not going to tell him who they are.

He said they would be in the car for a while, and he can’t shoot or hurt him while he’s driving (right?), so Yoosung decides now is a good time to try asking questions. He still needs to be careful, though. “What should I call you?”

“No one in paradise has a name,” the man responds coolly. “We abandon it for the good of the community.”

“But… I like my name. Will I have to abandon it, too?”

“Eventually, yes.”

Yoosung gulps. For some reason that really upsets him. “I don’t want to,” he says quietly. “I… I w-want to go home.”

“Why would you want to go back there? Back to a world where no one loves you?” the man spits.

“P-people do love me,” Yoosung says. “My family. The… the RFA. My friends at school. I… I want t-to see them again.”

“If they loved you, they’d have found you by now.”

Yoosung opens his mouth and closes it again before finally forming a sentence. “I… they’re looking. They’re t-trying, I _know_ they are.”

There’s a long pause. “Sure.”

Yoosung wants desperately to just rip off his blindfold, open the car door, and jump out, but he has a feeling he wouldn’t get very far before getting caught again. “Can I take the blindfold off?” he asks quietly.

“No. You’ve gathered enough information for one night, traitor,” the man barks out venomously.

Yoosung slumps further down in his seat and tries desperately not to cry. “Please let me go,” he begs. “I won’t say _anything_ , I promise. I’ll just… I’ll forget everything.” He knows this is pointless, but he can’t just let all this happen without trying to appeal to his softer side… if it ever surfaces again.

“Just forget? You think _if_ you ever get out of this and go back to the RFA, they won’t ask you?” The car lurches as the speed increases, and Yoosung flinches. “You think when Luciel questions you, you won’t break like the pussy you are?”

“I won’t! I swear!” he insists desperately. “You haven’t even told me anything I _could_ tell him! I’m not… I’m… I’m not… weak.”

Yoosung hears a rummaging noise from behind that makes him jump, and then he feels something fall on his lap. Yoosung cautiously touches it with his tied hands. The car accelerates faster.

“Prove it. Press the button.”

“B-button? I…” Is this the button to set off the bomb at the apartment? “What is it?” he asks, dreading his guess is right.

“I’m sure you know what it is,” the man says, fondness leaking into his voice, but it has a dangerous edge to it. Yoosung feels his hair being ruffled, and he whimpers. The car speeds up.

“Y-you want me to blow up Rika’s apartment?”

“Yes.” The car’s engine rumbles so loudly, Yoosung can barely hear the man’s voice.

“But… what if MC’s inside?”

“What if,” the man repeats, but it’s a statement, not a question. The car speeds up again.

Yoosung sucks in a deep breath. “I d-don’t want her to get hurt,” he stammers.

“Why? You mean nothing to her. You’re just a weak little kid.”

Yoosung frowns. “Sh-she loves me. And… and I love her. She knows I’m not weak.”

Suddenly the breaks are slammed, and Yoosung flies forward. The car screeches round a corner, and Yoosung yelps as the box with the button flies from his hands. “No!” he yells.

There’s a pause. A really long pause.

“Good boy,” the man growls, and Yoosung can _hear_ the manic smile on his face. “Very good boy.”

This time the praise doesn’t make Yoosung feel warm. It makes his blood run ice cold.

“What?! Why? Why am I good? What happened?” He’s starting to panic.

Suddenly the blindfold is tugged down away from Yoosung’s eyes. He blinks wildly as soon as it’s removed. “What did I do? Why am I good?!”

“See for yourself.” The man gestures to where the box sits.

Yoosung looks at it, blinking and trying to focus.

_No._

The button has been pressed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saeran POV. Written by Blackprose. <3

There’s something Unknown neglected to mention about the button. It was rigged to be a one-time trigger. That means that as soon as it’s pressed, it can never be pressed again. It’s symbolic, really; proof that there are no do-overs. To Unknown, there’s only the present, and absolutely nothing else. He can’t live in fantasy.

It’s inches away from Yoosung, sitting on the dashboard, and pushed. It’s useless now. Just like this current display of distress.

"No!" Yoosung yells, reaching out and grabbing it. He holds it between his knees and tries desperately to pull the button out. He's crying, and by the way his chest is heaving, Unknown figures he probably can’t breathe, either. Guess that’s what happens when you kill the love of your life. "No! It's not... it's not!" He throws the box to the floor in frustration and turns to Unknown. "Let me call her. Please! I won't even s-say anything, I just have to hear her voice. Please!" he begs.

What a good little actor this kid is. Perhaps better than Zen.

"With what phone?" Unknown can feel himself getting bored with the over zealous emotions he’s being graced with. He lazily shrugs his shoulders and keeps his eyes on the road ahead of him. Their turn is coming up soon. "Just accept it. You killed her."

"No!" Yoosung is raising his voice now. Is he getting angry? This might be interesting. "I didn't! You're lying! Sh-she's fine! Let me call her. Give me your phone!"

"I'm not lying." Unknown slows down the car. This time he doesn’t slam on the brakes. It’s easy to miss the turn off, a small entrance to a dirt road that is slightly obscured by pine trees.  He slowly turns the car and flips on the high-beams. It’ll help cut through the pitch black darkness. They’re far from the city limits, after all. "The castle should've exploded too, remember? I rigged it that way before you tackled me."  

Usually, Unknown is much more interested in reveling in the distress of his Missions, but he’s feeling sluggish. How long has it been since he dosed himself? This is always the first symptom of withdrawal.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

"No!" Yoosung's yells are hurting his head, but he's not going to stop. "She's. Not. Dead.” Yoosung emphasizes each word as if it were it’s own sentence. He pauses for a moment, long enough to watch out of the corner of his eye as Yoosung processes his situation. Finally, Yoosung speaks up. “You're bluffing. It's a fake button,” with a laughable amount of certainty.

Unknown doesn’t bother responding. He has a satellite watching the old Mint Eye headquarters. He’ll just show Yoosung when they get to their destination. Seeing the building they were occupying mere hours ago ablaze might change his mind on how serious Unknown is.

It must be because he’s so calm, compared to Yoosung’s panic; a yin to his current yang. But receiving no response appears to aggravate the kid more, because he starts fumbling with the door handle (locked, of course) and, when that doesn’t work, starts slamming his body against the doorframe. If the potholes on the road weren’t rocking the car enough as it was, it’d probably be a more noticeable effort. Perhaps the only noteworthy thing about this display is that Yoosung keeps crying out in pain every time he slams into the door. Why is that? Oh, his bruises.

Unknown had taken the liberty of bestowing Yoosung with his first dose of Magenta, the drug,  when he was passed out in his workroom. The blossoming bruises on his arm are probably going to flower even more with the way he’s desperately thrashing his body.

"Let me go!" Yoosung screams wildly. He rattles, pushes, pulls, hits the door, but nothing works, so he raises his hands up to hit the window.

It feels surreal, watching Yoosung panic while he's completely calm. Has Unknown ever been in a situation like this before? Has this ever happened? Maybe once... Maybe when he was a kid and his mom beat his brother instead of him for once. What did he do, then? What stopped Saeyoung from crying loud enough to reinvigorate their mother’s alcohol-induced rage?

Unknown veers the car to the right side of the road, changes gears to park, then lazily reaches out an arm to Yoosung. He pulls Yoosung in for a half-cuddle over the middle console, stroking his fingers through Yoosung’s bangs. A gentle "There, there," escapes his lips. All Yoosung seems capable of doing in response is yelping in surprise.

Is this even comforting? Is it possible for him to comfort anyone? Why is he even doing this? He doesn't give a shit about this kid, but he can't shake the fuzziness in his brain. It's making him weak. Unknown misses the strength the drug gives him.

"Sh-she's not dead," Yoosung insists through his tears. "She's not! You're lying." He's still angry, but his voice is weak.

Unknown doesn’t tell Yoosung what he truly believes. Everything is meaningless, and there are no second chances. What’s done is done, and once he reaches Magenta, he’ll  ultimately feel better having abandoned the RFA, that woman, and his family.  

But for now, Yoosung has been through a lot. There’s plenty of time for Unknown to break him, and what more effective way to break someone than to show them affection? He wipes away tears from Yoosung’s cheeks, gently threading his fingers through his captive’s blonde hair. This was the same way he and his brother used to comfort each other when one of them was crying. It felt good then... Saeran hopes it feels good now to Yoosung.

It clearly doesn’t, because Yoosung just tenses in his arms. Then, he’s quivering in fear. Perhaps he caught sight of the gun stored in Saeran’s back pocket.

"Why are you d-doing that?" Yoosung stammers. "Why are you doing any of this? If you're going to k-kill me, just do it." He leans forward in the car seat and presses his forehead against his knees. "I d-don't want any of this. I don't want to g-go to Paradise."

Saeran doesn't move from his cuddling location, and watches Yoosung curl into himself. He is surprised that he wants to touch Yoosung again. That was not a normal response. Bringing people in close might make them think Saeran had some humanity left in him, and it would hurt all the more when they were proven to be utterly incorrect.

Yet… there was something about Yoosung’s warmth. Not just the warmth of his physical body, either; Saeran saw this warmth when he used to silently hack into the chatroom. It had been so long since he felt warmth like that. Instead of reaching out, Saeran fingers the wet spot on his shirt, where Yoosung’s tears had fallen. He licks his lips and remembers the taste of Yoosung’s blood; now, it’s nothing more than a slimy residue.

Yoosung clutches at his hair as best as he can while his hands are tied.

"I don't want to go!" he yells at Saeran. "I never asked to go to your stupid paradise! J-just... let me go." Ah, looks like whatever anger he had has disappeared, and now he’s back to begging. God, Saeran is sick of people begging.

"You've been part of it since you joined the RFA," he says as he shifts the car into drive and starts moving again. "You can't escape... and if you do, I'll kill you." His voice is soft, but there’s no conflict within it. Saeran lives for his mission and his Saviour.  Without these, he has nothing. He is nothing.

"But... why me?" Yoosung is bordering on hysteria again.

"I've answered that enough, don't you think?" Saeran is tired. It’s around 4 A.M. according to the digital clock on the car’s dashboard. The world around them is illuminated only by the headlights, and it’s been over 12 hours since his last dose of the drugs. That’s likely the primary cause of his fatigue, among other reasons. Saeran wonders if he should dose them both again. He was hoping to wait until they reached their destination, but all this emotion Yoosung is exuding is weakening his mind and letting in unnecessary thoughts.

"You haven't answered anything. Why me? Why... why not someone else? Am I special? Or... or is it just that I happened to be an easy target?"

"Do you want to be special?"

None of the RFA was special - not to Saeran, except maybe Luciel, but that was for an entirely different reason than the one Yoosung was suggesting.

"Th-that's not what I asked," Yoosung stammers, pressing his forehead harder against his knees.

"I've been told you're smart and caring," Saeran says, as if it were answering Yoosung’s question. There was a part of his mind that continues to prompt him to shut his mouth. "The Saviour spoke highly of you."

Yoosung frowns, sitting up and looking at Saeran. "The... Saviour?"

"My Saviour said you helped people who are broken."

"Does... how do they know me?"

"I wonder..." he trails off. Of course Saeran is aware of the connection, but Yoosung isn’t privy to that information yet.  "Do you help people who are broken?"

"I... I try and be nice to people," he stammers. "How does the Saviour know me?"

"She knows everyone in the RFA." Saeran slows the car down to a crawl and turns into a gravel driveway. It isn’t obvious where the driveway begins and the road ends, both are in equal states of disrepair. This location was chosen for its isolation, after all.

"Who is she?"

This kid will not stop asking unnecessary questions. Saeran doesn't respond as he parks the car and gets out. He retrieves his hacking equipment and duffle bag from the back of the car and locks the car doors behind him. He needs to set up before he lets Yoosung inside.

Saeran steps into the house. It’s musty, but familiar - the perfect safehouse. It is a house but it’s no bigger than an apartment. There’s no basement, one bathroom, one bedroom, a pitifully small living room with no furniture, and an even smaller kitchen. Saeran had to choose this particular hideout among the many Mint Eye had; it was the easiest to relocate to. He hadn’t been in contact with his Saviour since his failed attempt at luring the RFA, and this was the only place he knew of that she didn’t care enough about to lock.

Saeran sets his laptop and accompanying equipment down on the floor and rummages through his duffel bag. He pulls out a small vial, not unlike your everyday insulin container, and swirls around the pinkish liquid inside. Then, he unwraps a fresh needle from its sterile packaging and lifts both up. The needle pierces the vial’s rubber stopper with the tiniest amount of resistance, just enough to be satisfying, and he draws up half a syringe full of the liquid - a full dose. Almost absentmindedly, he flicks the syringe with a finger to dislodge any air bubbles.

He doesn’t even bother aiming for a vein when he bares his forearm. He’s done this enough that he knows what he’s doing. The skin on Saeran’s forearm is knotted and scarred from years of injections, but the needle still pierces the skin effortlessly. He sucks in air between his teeth, relishing in the welcoming burn as it enters his bloodstream. Pure bliss. Magenta.

It’s a struggle to only take half the dose. He saves the other half in the syringe for Yoosung. When he pulls the needle out of his skin, blood wells up and trails down his arm. He must have aimed incorrectly. It’s usually a lot cleaner than this.  He ignores it, sets up his mediocre hacking equipment, and sets to work.

The smartest thing to do  that Unknown has successfully captured an RFA member is to go completely offline. Even the smallest connection to the internet could leave them vulnerable to potential tracers. But he’s out of contact with his Saviour, and with no phone to speak of, this is his only method of communication.

He spends most of the evening creating a rudimentary firewall that should keep hackers (namely Luciel) at bay. It isn’t safe enough yet to risk sending a message out to the Saviour, lest it be hacked on its way to its destination.

***

It’s daylight by the time Unknown is sure he’s covered their tracks adequately. He checks the satellite feed of the castle, and… the internet connection out here is so poor it takes a full minute to load the live feed. There’s no active fire, but the button Yoosung pressed clearly did its job. The entire building looks blackened. It could have been smouldering, but the 480p it’s currently streaming in is too pixelated to be able to tell. As for the Saviour’s old apartment, there’s no satellite for him to check.

Then, Unknown remembers his new pet. He left him locked in the car all night. He hopes his new friend hasn’t scampered off. Not like he’d get far out here, in any case. He grabs the needle with the half-dose inside and it sloshes around.

From across the driveway, he can see blonde hair pressed against the window. Did his pet fall asleep? How precious. Unknown saunters towards the car and opens the door. Yoosung is asleep, wrists bound, blindfold around his neck like a necklace. Unknown watches the unencumbered rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, thinking that this next dose will interfere with that peacefulness. A few hours ago in the dead of night, a place where his sentimentality dwells, that might have saddened him, but now it’s exciting. He wants to see Yoosung suffer.

He gingerly grabs Yoosung’s forearm, the same arm he injected a dose into yesterday, and lifts the needle he used hours earlier. It was a hassle  reaching across Yoosung to ensure he got the same arm but he wanted to choose the most painful site. He pushes the tip into Yoosung’s skin. Yoosung groans when he awakens, and it takes him a mere moment to process the pain before he opens his eyes and fixes that terror-filled gaze on Unknown. Then, he looks down at his arm in panic and sees a needle pressed into it. He screams and tries to jerk away.

Too bad for Yoosung that his response rate was slow. His jerks were futile. The needle is now empty, the drug completely injected into his bloodstream. All he’s successfully accomplished by panicking is embedding the needle deeper into his arm than Unknown intended. Unknown lifts his free hand and smashes Yoosung’s face into the car seat.

“Stay still, dog,” he growls, as he uses his strength to try and hold Yoosung still enough so he can examine the needle, now erect and sticking out of Yoosung’s arm independently.

"No! No! Wh-what is that?!" Yoosung tries to squirm away. His screams are getting louder and louder. It’s extremely grating, considering the kid’s mouth is inches away from his own ear.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Unknown screams, trying to overpower Yoosung’s voice as he clambers into the car and uses his body weight to hold Yoosung down. It’s cramped and uncomfortable. Unknown has to hunch over, but he succeeds in pinning Yoosung’s body with his own and uses both hands to steady the kid’s shaking arms as he panics.

“If you keep fucking squirming, you’re going to hurt yourself more.”

He can feel the way the sobs are wracking Yoosung’s body as Unknown jitters up and down in his lap.

"Wh-what is that?" he asks. "P-please, don't k-kill me."

“It isn’t going to kill you. Jesus fucking Christ, stop moving!” Unknown has finally pinned Yoosung’s arm down, and examines the needle. It’s lodged in well. When he removes this, it’s going to bruise even more than before, and probably break some blood vessels. He holds Yoosung’s wrist down on the middle console in the car and begins slowly removing the needle, not even bothering to offer a warning.

Yoosung screams as the needle is pulled out, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Pussy. He's still sobbing, and it’s clear he’s trying not to struggle because he’s vibrating less and less.

It's bleeding more profusely than Unknown anticipated. He steps up from Yoosung’s lap and yanks him roughly by the collar.

"Look what you did!” he berates, and tugs Yoosung across the gravel driveway and into the house. The kid is a whimpering, crying mess. The only positive side effect of enduring these pathetic cries is that he’s too preoccupied with whimpering to speak. He stumbles after Unknown, trying desperately to keep up.

Yoosung is trailing blood as they walk into the apartment, each of their steps documented by blossoming blood drops on the carpet. He sits Yoosung down roughly, opening the emergency first aid kit from his duffel bag and splashing the wound with rubbing alcohol. If the kid gets an infection, it’s going to make things even more annoying. With no current connection to the Saviour, antibiotics are hard to come by.

Yoosung doesn’t speak, he just slumps down against the wall. As Unknown wraps a tight bandage around the wound, Yoosung passes out.

Unknown can’t believe Yoosung’s tolerance for pain is so low. He supposes it’s to be expected, since the kid’s so weak.  Unknown can even feel how soft Yoosung’s skin is under his fingers as he bandages the arm. It’s laughable that this kid calls himself a man when he’s so fragile.

Yoosung is much more likeable when he sleeps, Unknown thinks idly, as he lays Yoosung down on the floor. He hooks the leash up to the pillar at the top of the stairs, and feels his own eyelids start to droop. Unknown was so busy preparing a warm welcome for Yoosung that he hadn’t had any time to sleep. A pity.

***

In his dreams, Mint Eye doesn’t exist, and he’s back with his brother at home. It’s not a perfect existence, but it’s the only memory he has of Saeyoung. He remembers comforting Saeyoung after his mother beat him – a rare occasion. He’s reliving the night they laid in bed, side by side, and for once, Saeran got to play the older brother role. He wrapped his arms around Saeyoung’s back, pulling him close and burying his face into the curve of his shoulder.

“It’ll be okay, Saeyoung,” he tells his sobbing sibling. “We’ll leave and be together, right?”

Inside his dreams, he’s cuddling his brother. Saeyoung doesn’t stop crying, despite Saeran’s kind words, and he… he starts inching away slowly, as if Saeran’s touch was unwanted. Panic seizes hold of Saeran’s heart, and he pulls Saeyoung closer, but all he hears are more sobs.

This isn't right ... He doesn't remember his brother pushing him away like this...

"Please don't leave." 

***

Hmm, when did he fall asleep? He doesn't remember. Did he even dream? A side effect of the drugs, maybe, nothing more.

When Unknown finally wakes up, Yoosung is an arm’s length away from him, looking absolutely terrified. It’s comforting to know that even in his sleep, his presence alone orchestrates such horror. Perhaps Yoosung looks this afraid because he was only given a half-dose of the drugs. Unknown will need to bless him with a whole dose tomorrow, even if that means foregoing his own dose. He can live without the drugs for a day. He'll just need to use willpower to not become weak like his dead self.

"Are you hungry?" Unknown asks as he sits up. He's famished himself, but he wants to take care of Yoosung, like he promised the Saviour he would. Unlike some people in his life, he keeps his promises.

Yoosung jumps when he speaks, and turns to look at him. Yoosung frowns, like Unknown was speaking a language long dead rather than modern day Korean. "I don't know," he says. "Probably."

Unknown leaves wordlessly for the kitchen. It’s squalid and small, but the cupboard has non-perishable food. He uses his pocket knife to force open a can of soup and pours it into two small bowls. If there’s one thing this kitchen has, it’s a microwave. Thank God, because Unknown doesn’t have time for cooking. He sets the microwave for three minutes.

When Unknown returns, he notices Yoosung has pushed himself into a sitting position, and is now leaning back against the wall, staring blankly at the dollops of dried blood soaked into the carpet. The bright purple in his eyes already looks dimmer.

"Will you eat, or do I need to force feed you?"

"I'll eat," Yoosung responds with little prompting. How can he be so responsive right now? “But my hands are still tied."

"I haven't forgotten," Unknown retorts, but instead of reaching for Yoosung’s constraints, he takes his time. He brings the lip of the bowl to his face, slurps, and embellishes his seal of approval in the form of a long “Ahh!” before reaching down and untying Yoosung’s wrists. The skin underneath looks red and raw. This adds further credibility to the weak, soft-skinned theory Unknown had already assigned to Yoosung. What a child.

Immediately after being freed, Yoosung rubs the raw marks and winces. Unknown feels an ugly kind of happiness bubble inside him. He’s in pain. Good. Then, Yoosung looks at the soup, back up at him, and says hesitantly: “Is it… is it poisoned?”

"I'm eating it, aren't I?" Unknown sneers, soup coating his upper lip. At least it’s washing away the overwhelming iron taste of Yoosung’s blood.  "Why even bother asking a stupid question like that?"

Yoosung closes his eyes. He no longer looks terrified; he looks devoid of emotion. The drugs must be working.  

"I don't know. Guess I'm just stupid." He reaches out and picks up the soup, taking a sip from the side of the bowl much like Unknown had.

"I, uh... Right. Must be,"  Unknown stammers. That’s interesting. Had it really been that easy to break him? Hmm, no fun.

Wait, nevermind. Yoosung’s begun to cry. He doesn’t even look aware of it himself as fat teardrops plop into his already salty soup.

“I'm so stupid," he says again, and he looks down at the soup as he holds it in his lap. "So stupid."

What an amazing moment. Yoosung’s sadness is gorgeous. How is it possible for a man to be this pretty? He has just the thing to capture this memory. Unknown stands abruptly, soup sloshing and half spilling on the floor, and walks to where he set up his laptop and duffle bag. He rummages around until his fingers feel cold metal and circular pieces of plastic before grasping the strap in his hand and pulling it out. A camera. One of V’s cameras, in fact. Unknown had stolen it off the blind fool while he was appealing to the Saviour’s humanity, as if it still existed.

He hops back until he’s standing over Yoosung and lifts the camera. The shutter is louder than Yoosung’s small whimpers, and of course, he hears it immediately and looks up in confusion, tears shining in his purple eyes. What an amazing trophy. Luciel would hate these.

"What are you…?" he asks, and his voice sounds so… lethargic.

"A keepsake," he smiles at Yoosung, but it's a smile devoid of happiness. “From before you’ve joined our family.”

"A family," Yoosung repeats, closing his eyes. Unknown thinks he's still crying, but he's not sure. "I already have a family."

"The RFA?" Unknown scoffs. "They're not your real family. We'll take care of you in Paradise."  

"The RFA are my family," Yoosung says, still not lifting his head or opening his eyes. "My parents and sister, too. They're my real family. Will I ever get to see them again?" Unknown hadn’t stopped to consider Yoosung might have meant a different type of family, because he’s never had a family like that.

"You won't," Unknown says, nodding his head slightly. "Everyone in Paradise will be your family now."

"What if I don't want them?" Yoosung asks. "What if I want my real family?"

Unknown doesn’t respond. He flicks the camera off.

“I want to go home,” Yoosung squeaks meekly.

“Are you done eating?” Unknown doesn’t wait for Yoosung’s response before he takes both their soup bowls (neither of which are completely empty) and storms off to the kitchen. The first few days with a new member are always the hardest. They won’t shut up about their lives before being inducted, as if it somehow still mattered, or (even more ludicrous) that they would get to go back there.

Oh! Before he forgot… Unknown sets the bowls down on the kitchen counter and pivots back to face Yoosung. He ties the rope around the raw skin, purposefully making it tighter so he can watch that cute little wince on Yoosung’s face.

"I want to go home," Yoosung says again, and starts shaking.

"If you don't shut up, I'll make you,” Unknown whispers as he strokes Yoosung’s soft cheek. How old was he again? Twenty? And still no facial hair? Despite himself, he enjoys the feeling of his clammy skin, cold, and somehow still soft from dried tears.

That’s not ideal. Unknown shouldn’t enjoy touching any of his Missions. He stands, camera attached to his wrist by its strap, and moves to where he set up his laptop, the wall parallel to Yoosung’s.

After inputting his password, the first thing Unknown thinks to do is check the RFA chatroom. His eyes flick up to Yoosung’s before returning to the screen. Yoosung must have read the intent in his eyes (the Saviour had warned him how attentive and observant Yoosung was) and asks about MC; is she okay? Did she get out in time? Is she alive?

The most effective way to break someone is to leave them alone with their own thoughts - those awful thoughts, exacerbated by the drugs, will make any human contact preferable, even time with a broken and deranged human like himself. So, Unknown doesn’t respond.

All the members, sans Yoosung, are in the chatroom and largely unaware of Unknown’s unwanted presence. They’re outright discussing their rescue plans, but they’re pitiful. It isn’t really a plan at all: leave it to Luciel. MC is participating. Damn. Guess Luciel deactivated the special security system in time. Not like he’s going to tell Yoosung that.

The only positive of entering this conversation now is that Unknown can read the lack of energy in Luciel’s words. No longer is he the energetic, quirky hacker. He’s serious and deflated. If Unknown closes his eyes and tries hard enough, he can picture the light dying in Luciel’s eyes.

Yoosung looks down at his arm, and Unknown’s eyes trail down his body until they’re both staring at the same thing: the beautifully blossomed bruise clearly visible under the meager bandage he had stuck on Yoosung.

Then, Yoosung slumps forward lifelessly, like a doll tipping over. Unknown doesn’t bother checking whether he’s passed out or just given up. It doesn’t matter, in any case. He needs to perfect his code; the amateur firewall he erected last night will not hold up under Luciel’s manic scrutiny.

 

***

 

Perhaps 8-10 hours had elapsed while he was perfecting his code. Any attempts to contact his Saviour have bounced back, like an email to a nonexistent address. It’s frustrating always reading the “failure: message undeliverable” notice. He sets his laptop aside, and crawls over until he’s in front of Yoosung. He does nothing more than stare at the blonde, unblinkingly and wordlessly, like he's about to consume his prey.

Yoosung opens his eyes as if in response to Unknown’s gaze, although he most likely heard him shuffling closer. The emotion in Yoosung’s eyes is indiscernible; likely because there really isn't much to decipher. He looks emptied of emotion aside from a desperate need for human contact. Perfect.

"What am I doing here?" Yoosung asks and his voice sounds hoarse.

Unknown bares his teeth and swiftly unveils the pocket knife he has stored inside his jacket pocket. The sight of it alone causes Yoosung to sit up in fear, pressing his back against the wall and very much finding his role as Unknown’s prey. Unknown clambers on top of Yoosung’s lap, straddling him as he presses the sharp edge of the knife right underneath his jawline. The tip of the blade barely cuts into his skin with each fevered heartbeat. It’s not enough to draw blood, but that isn’t what he’s looking to do this time around.

"If you ask that one more time, I'll carve it into you."

Yoosung’s pulse quickens and his eyes widen, but he stays as still as a statue.

"P-please don't hurt me," he begs.

Unknown slowly glides the knife down Yoosungs neck, past his earlier slice, and down to his collar bone. His other hand begins to lift Yoosung’s shirt.

"Don't you like being punished, though?" He purrs. "I've seen your browser history, you know."

"W-what?"

He pulls Yoosung’s shirt up enough that it's bunched up around his neck. Unknown traces the knife in circles down Yoosung’s ribs and stomach.

"Hardcore bondage with blonde sub." He's listing off porn names, ones he knows Yoosung’s watched. "Slut humiliated with two dicks. Emo twink tames the beast... straight, gay, and bisexual porn. You slut."

Yoosung’s pale cheeks are red. He still has enough self worth to feel ashamed. Unknown can take advantage of this.  Yoosung shivers under the gentle scratch of the knife gently tracing over his body. Unknown entertains himself with the thought that it’s from a combination of pleasure and terror.

"I... I'm n-not a s-sl..." he trails off. He can't say the word. How precious.

"So you can jack off to it but not say it?" Unknown sits back on his heels, still straddling Yoosung, but far enough away that the knife is no longer pressed against his skin. "Shirt off," he commands, frowning at how disheveled and rumpled Yoosung looks. He'll need to clean him up.

"What?" Yoosung splutters. "I-I-I... I d-d... w-why?"

"The next question you ask, I will carve into you," he warns, his voice dangerously low and a glint in his eye suggesting he isn't lying.

"I c-can't," he sobs.

Ah yes, the wrist bindings. Unknown leans forward and unties Yoosung’s wrists. He pinches the sensitive red skin and delights in Yoosung’s yelp.

"Now, shirt off."

Yoosung starts pulling at his shirt, but his body is shaking so hard, and his bruised arm appears to be useless, or he isn’t willing to move it due to pain.

"I can't," he sobs again.

Unknown’s fingers lightly brush Yoosung’s cheeks. Fresh tears mean his face feels warmer this time.

"I'll take care of you,” Unknown coos gently. This is all part of the process, after all. “You just have to listen to me."

Yoosung's breaths are coming out in shallow pants and he can barely breathe. He blinks up at Unknown in desperation, clutching at his shirt as though that will stop him from having to take it off.

"P-please don't hurt me," he begs again.

"What could you do about it if I did?"

He grabs the hem of Yoosung’s shirt and begins to roughly pull it over his head, but it's hard to get off of him when he won't move his arms. Yoosung’s cries gain in volume.

"P-please!" he begs, anchoring his arms to his sides.

"Is that your favourite word now? Do you want me to carve that word into you?" All this sobbing and emotion is exacerbating Unknown’s mood. He's frustrated. He lets go of the knife and slaps Yoosung across the face with a resounding smack. "Don't disobey me!" In his mind, he's confused - why isn't Yoosung letting him take care of everything like he promised? What can he do to change this? All he knows how to do is use fear.

"N-no." Yoosung’s voice quivers. "I-I'll do it. I j-just... I d-don't..." He gulps and squeezes his eyes shut. He slowly pulls his shirt over his head with a pained groan. Then, he takes a moment to stare at the discarded shirt in his hand. Has he never seen blood before? That’s what happens when you squirm while you’re being injected. Dumbass did this to himself.

"Good boy." Unknown removes the shirt from Yoosung's hands and stands up, flicking the pocket knife closed. "You need to clean." He unhooks Yoosung’s leash from the pillar and tugs twice at it, a much gentler touch than his earlier slap. "Follow me."

Yoosung lets a relieved sob and stumbles along behind, pushing himself to his feet with a little more ease this time, and finding the balance he hadn’t had yesterday.

Unknown leads Yoosung into a cramped bathroom. There's a sink, a toilet, and a bathtub with a shower, but very little walking space between them. He pushes Yoosung in first, and leans against the doorless frame.

"Do you want to take a shower?" Anger drained out of him, Unknown just feels empty and bored. He starts picking his fingernails half way through his sentence.

"I... okay," Yoosung responds uncertainly.

"Okay, well..." Unknown gestures to the shower. "Go ahead." He doesn't move from his spot, nor does he break eye contact with Yoosung. Why does he look so confused? He said he was going to take care of him, after all. And he's doing just that.

Yoosung looks down at his bare chest and then back up at Unknown.

"Are you g-going to watch me?"

"Does it matter?" Unknown sneers, but then a small smile plays on the corner of his lips. It's almost mischievous. "Or do you want some company?"

"No!" Yoosung blurts out, and he looks down at the floor. "I... I d-don't want you to watch."

"You don't really have a choice." He's holding the pocket knife again, but this time he's using it to scrape the grime from underneath his nails. "Either do or don't, I don't give a shit."

Yoosung squeezes his eyes shut.

"I c-can't if you're watching," he stutters.

Oh, it seems his nails need a new coat of paint. Unknown thinks about this before raising an eyebrow to Yoosung’s statement. What’s with this pathetic kid? It's just a body, isn't it? There's no door for the bathroom. It's just an entrance way. Arguably, there isn’t much Yoosung could do to stop him.

Unknown lets Yoosung stew under his steely gaze, enjoying the subtle way Yoosung’s shaking. Then, he walks into the bathroom and hooks Yoosung’s collar over the showerhead  before walking away. Where did he put his nail polish?

As Unknown walks down the hallway, he hears the sound of clothes hitting the floor and the shower turns on.

He never explicitly said he was going to give Yoosung the privacy he requested. So 10 minutes later, after he’s located his nail polish (and taken the care to lay out Yoosung’s new uniform) he slumps to the floor in the doorway. He unscrews the lid and brushes off excess paint from the brush, before applying a new coat to his thumb.

When he looks up, Unknown can see Yoosung’s slumped shoulders and watches as he tugs his hair clips out, and just… stares at them. What is he thinking about? He already looks defeated, but at least he looks more relaxed. That is, until he notices his presence, he supposes. So, Unknown stays silent, enjoying the company. It's much easier to like this kid when he isn't crying or begging.

Unknown has almost completed his non-dominant hand when he hears the water shut off. He looks up just in time to see whatever peace was on Yoosung’s face disappear and, in its place, his expression contorts into one of horror and embarrassment. In fact, the kid almost falls over trying to cover his genitals, as if Unknown actually gave a shit.

"W-what are you doing?" Yoosung blurts out accusingly.

"Painting my nails," he mumbles, then turns his attention back to his nails. The nails aren't dry yet, but he can see they’re unblemished and shiny. Perfect. "Want me to paint yours, too?"

"What? No!" Yoosung looks at him in confusion, and crouches down a little, trying to keep as much of his dignity as he can. He looks at the pile of his clothes on the floor. "I... I don't have a towel," he says in a small voice.

"Under the sink." He isn't making eye contact with Yoosung. He just brings his lips together as he blows gently on his nails. This house doesn’t have much, but if there’s one thing it has a seeming overabundance of, it’s fucking towels. The Saviour has a thing for cleanliness. She’s going to freak out when she sees the blood in the entranceway and in the living room.

Yoosung doesn’t seem like he trusts that answer as he cautiously glances over at the sink and then back at Unknown. Oh, he’s trying to maneuver himself so Unknown doesn’t see anything. That makes a lot more sense. It’s honestly really amusing watching Yoosung stretch and wiggle while keeping one hand over his crotch. It doesn’t hide much. He looks much more comfortable once he’s wrapped a clean towel around his waist.

"Sh-should I just put these on again?" he asks, pointing to his discarded pants and boxers.

Unknown stands and reaches for Yoosung’s leash, wrapped around the showerhead. He fumbles unhooking it and then wraps it around his hand twice to ensure he doesn't drop it. It’s all wet. Gross.

"Follow me. I have clothing for you."

Unknown leads him down the hallway and to the adjacent room: a small bedroom with a twin size bed, and yet another room without a door, just an entryway. Laid out on the bed is a crease-free, perfectly coiffed tuxedo.

He reaches out and grabs Yoosung’s hand, rolling his fingers around in his palms and inspecting his nails.

"I'm going to paint your nails black. It’ll look good on you," he mutters, leaning forward. Yoosung’s fingers were soft, too. How can someone be so soft? He’s never felt anyone with skin like this. What’s so special about him? Why did Luciel choose this one to bring to the castle? Before he even understands what he’s doing, Unknown leans forward and kisses Yoosung’s cheek. Yoosung flinches but doesn’t resist.  Maybe the answer Saeran seeks is on this kid’s skin, and he could soak it in just by touching him. Is that a thing? Probably not, but it doesn’t stop him.

"That's... I have to wear that?" he asks.

"Yes, please."

What the fuck? Confusion paints Unknown’s face for a moment and he wipes his lips with the back of his free hand, almost gagging at the taste of affection in his mouth. When has he ever said please in his life to a subordinate? He drops Yoosung’s hand and grips his own hair, hard.

"O-okay," Yoosung stammers, but he makes no motion to move.

"Well, what you waiting for?!" Unknown’s words sound venomous. but he’s sure his body language and facial expressions show how conflicted he’s feeling. He screws his eyes shut and purses his lips.

"W-why th-that?" he stammers, looking down at the tuxedo. Yoosung walks towards the bed, stopping when he gets as far as the leash will let him go.

"What, you'd rather be naked?" Saeran approaches the bed and sits down beside the tuxedo, lightly fingering the dress shirt collar. It’s a nice suit. He chose it for his prettiest pet, and Yoosung fits the bill.

"No," he says slowly. "I... I just... I..." Yoosung frowns. He looks so confused. He tries to swallow his emotion.

"You don't like it?" Saeran allows his emotions to leak into his voice, and it sounds like he's in pain, even to himself. Try as he might, he can't identify why he'd be feeling pain.

"N-no, I do. I was just wondering why," he whispers, and he reaches to pick up the shirt, hands shaking.

Saeran sits down on the plush bed and presses his back against the headboard. He brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. Why does he suddenly feel vulnerable? What did he taste on Yoosung’s cheek? Saeran licks his lips, but they taste no different, maybe a little salty.

“I thought the suit would look good on you.”

Yoosung opens his mouth and closes it again.  

"I..." He pauses. "Th-thank you?" It sounds more like a question than genuine thanks. He puts the shirt back down. "Is... um... will I wear underwear?"

"I'm... I'm not sure what that is." His voice sounds so small, and Saeran finds he absolutely hates this. His other Missions never had to see this side of him, the weak side, the side that came out at night.

"L-like... boxers or s-something," he says, and then shakes his head. "Nevermind, I... I just... it doesn't matter." He picks up the dress pants and holds them up. Saeran can’t help but notice the unguarded melancholic look that passes those purple eyes. He watches Yoosung take a deep breath in, then out, and whisper an apology under his breath as he dresses.

It wasn’t a question directed at him, but he feels a burning need to discover an answer. "Why are you sorry?"

Yoosung looks down at the floor as he buttons them.

"Doesn't matter.”

When Yoosung  reaches the buttons of the dress shirt, his hands are shaking too much for him to do it properly. Saeran notices this and crawls on his hands and knees across the bed, close enough to where Yoosung is standing. He reaches over from the bed, gently brushing Yoosung’s shaking hands away, and buttoning the shirt up for him. Saeran can tell Yoosung’s starting to panic from the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He can see the small scratches he left on Yoosung’s chest earlier with his pocket knife. They make him feel... conflicted.

"Th-thank you," Yoosung stammers when the shirt's been done up completely.

"Do you want to sleep on the bed?" Saeran grips the leash again, but doesn't tug. He wants to tug and force Yoosung onto the bed, but... his fingers don't respond. For some reason, he wants to give Yoosung enough autonomy. There’s a part of him that defines this need logically: if Yoosung trusts him, then maybe he won't want to leave.

"O-okay," he stammers.

"I'll be in the bed, too. Is that okay?" Saeran starts backing up on the bed, still holding the leash, and gently pulling Yoosung with him. Yoosung doesn’t look like he’s completely sold on the idea.

"I... I guess y-you'll be sleeping here no matter what I say...?" Yoosung says carefully as he allows himself to get pulled into the bed.

"I... didn't think you'd say no."

It's true. He wanted to give Yoosung a choice, but he never thought he'd deny him. Saeran let him shower, fed him and took care of him - why would Yoosung ever say no? He's never slept alone - he either slept with his brother or another member of Mint Eye. Sleeping alone was a luxury, and he had slept with someone for so long that sleeping by himself felt frightening.

Wordlessly, Yoosung climbs onto the bed and barely hesitates before laying his head on the second pillow. Saeran shuffles until he’s on his side, fingers playing with the leash. Yoosung doesn’t look like he’s about to run away, so why is Saeran holding onto it so tightly? The leash is the only thing holding them together, and... he doesn't want to be alone.

Saeran reaches for Yoosung’s hand and inspects his fingernails, idly tracing patterns on his palm. There’s something so satisfying about touching Yoosung. He’s never felt this before.

"Can I paint your nails?" Saeran blurts. He knew he already said he was going to earlier, whether Yoosung wanted it or not, but he finds he wants his permission, yet again.

"I... um… s-sure?"

"Hold your hand out like this," he says, splaying his hand and holding his fingers apart in demonstration.

Yoosung sits up slowly and does as Saeran says, not taking his eyes off him for a second, like he doesn’t trust Saeran to legitimately paint his nails and expects him to reveal some nefarious side purpose to this whole performance.  Yoosung even looks mildly surprised when Saeran pulls the bottle of black nail polish from his coat pocket.

Saeran holds each of Yoosung’s fingertips between his index finger and thumb as he slowly paints Yoosung’s nails, each brush stroke meaningful. When he completes one hand, he says "Blow on it but, not too hard. You'll smear it."

Yoosung brings the hand up and looks at it for a moment. He looks at Saeran’s face again for a split second before dropping his eyes back down to his fingers. He blows on his nails gently. Saeran notices he isn’t trembling anymore.

"Do you like it?" Saeran asks, hopefully.

He starts working on Yoosung’s other hand while he waits. He isn't interested in making eye contact right now. It feels exhausting. He wonders why he's gently touching Yoosung instead of attacking him, like a part of him was screaming to do. He wishes they were at Mint Eye. If they were, Saeran could just hand Yoosung over to a guard for a few hours while he killed his sentimental side with sleep and an extra dose.

"It's different," Yoosung says carefully. "I-I've never had it before."

"I don't have any other colours… I'm sorry."

What the fuck? Why is he apologizing for something so miniscule? Saeran lets go of Yoosung’s fingers, finishing half a nail. He snakes his hand into his thick, slightly curly hair and grabs a fistful to tug. Saeran pulls at his hair hard enough he's sure he's ripping some from his scalp, judging by the sting. The lid of the nail polish bottle falls onto the bed and sticks to the comforter.

"Th-the colour's fine," Yoosung says hastily, cowering away a little. "I-I-I... I like it.”

He reaches for the nail polish lid, dips it into the bottle, and hands it to Yoosung.

"Finish it," he whispers. "I-I can't..."

Yoosung looks at it but doesn’t retrieve it.

"I... I d-don't know how," he stammers.

"Then don't!" Saeran twists the lid back onto the nail polish bottle. He grips the bottle hard and considers throwing it against the wall, but opts to roughly shove it in his pocket instead. He slumps angrily onto his pillow, like a teenager having a tantrum.

"Go to bed, Yoosung."

Yoosung looks down at his half-painted nails and fresh tears start to glide down his cheeks. He lies back on the bed and stares at the ceiling.

"I'm s-sorry," he whispers quietly.

Saeran curls up on his side and watches the tears fall as Yoosung stares at the ceiling. His eyes look bottomless, like he’s accepted defeat, but there’s still a faint glimmer of hope. Saeran despises and desires it simultaneously. He reaches one hand out and brushes the tears from Yoosung’s face with his thumb.

"Please don't cry. I'll take care of you." Saeran had promised, after all. Until they get to Mint Eye, until Yoosung is delivered to the Saviour, Saeran will take care of Yoosung tirelessly.

Yoosung whimpers and closes his eyes. He seems to nuzzle into Saeran’s hand, but perhaps that’s just wishful thinking.

"I'm scared," he whispers.

"I know, but I'll keep you safe. Just trust me."

He can't tell if Yoosung likes his touch or not. Saeran wants to pull his hand away, but he just can't. Yoosung’s skin feels so pleasant, and... he's already gone too far tonight. He should indulge it, Saeran convinces himself.

Yoosung stops the tears from rolling down his face, but the trembling begins again.

“W-will you ever tell me who you are?" Yoosung asks quietly. How is it possible Yoosung has so much willpower, after the day he’s had? How does he have it in him to keep asking questions? Especially to Saeran, who isn’t able to keep up with his own turbulent and manic mood swings.

"Who I am isn't important." Saeran’s heart aches. He can't even reach his Saviour right now. Without his Saviour, Saeran might as well be unimportant.

"I j-just... I want to know." Again, with the persistence.

Saeran thinks about who he is: an abandoned and unloved person right from the start. A tool to be exploited, first for money and then for his Saviour. Before he went on this particular mission, his Saviour had asked him to train a replacement. Saeran hadn’t considered it at the time, but that meant something, didn't it? She was planning to abandon him. She _knew_ he was going to fail. That thought is too overwhelming right now, so Saeran buries it inside his chest and ignores the way it aches.

"Please stop asking," Saeran begs.

"I... I've never met anyone who's n-not important," he responds quietly, and there’s an earnesty to his voice that directly attacks the walls around Saeran’s heart.

Yoosung seems to have stopped crying, so Saeran retracts his hand. He curls up as much as possible, like he's holding his weakness close and, if he shoves it down deep enough, he won't need to acknowledge it.

"Well, now you h-have," he chokes out. Maybe tears are contagious. His own vision is getting blurry.

The Saviour warned him. She said Yoosung was attentive and kind. Saeran had thought he understood. When Yoosung rolls over onto his side and looks at Saeran, he feels his breath catch in his throat. No one has ever looked at him like that. Is this why she wanted Yoosung, because of his innocence? Alarms are going off in Saeran’s brain when he feels Yoosung’s hands on his cheek. He seizes up, his entire body igniting.

"I don't think I have." He whispers so softly Saeran isn’t sure if he heard it or imagined it.

When was the last time someone touched him kindly? When was the last time someone touched him and didn't hurt him?

"Are you going to hit me?"

"What? No, of course not."

"I'd deserve it... If you did hit me."

Physical pain is preferable. He wouldn't feel this dull ache in his heart. Saeran wants to be hit. It's easier to process than whatever he's feeling right now.

Yoosung frowns. "N-no, you wouldn't," he says. "No one deserves to be hit."

Saeran laughs bitterly.

"I do. In the morning, I'll hurt you again."

Yoosung doesn't take his hand away, even though there's fear in his eyes.

"I... I know. B-but I wouldn't hit you."

Saeran reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the pocket knife. He drops it on the bed in between him and Yoosung.

"I deserve to die. You should hurt me."

Yoosung shakes his head. "I don't want to hurt you. N-no one deserves to die."

"I do," Saeran says with utmost certainty. "Please."

"No," Yoosung says, his voice a little stronger this time. "I-I would never hurt you."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Saeran rolls onto his back, and he brings both his arms to his chest. "It aches so much. I want to die."

To Saeran’s surprise, Yoosung shuffles closer. He’s still trembling, but he reaches out again and strokes Saeran’s cheek. It’s not fair that such a small action can cause his heart to seize like it is. Is this how Yoosung is with everyone?

The closeness feels... good? Is that how Saeran should describe it? He wants to move, roll over, maybe, and break off Yoosung’s touch, but he's frozen. This is dangerous. Saeran needs to remember who this is. He's in cahoots with Luciel. He's not... trustworthy.

But even as he thinks this, he doesn't believe it. He recognizes that part of him doesn’t have the energy right now to place barriers. He wants to trust Yoosung. This is why he never lets his Missions see him at night. It’s dangerous to allow them to see too much of his humanity.

"I... I don't know what you should do, b-but... you have to find something... something worth living for."

"Would you say that if I was a murderer?" Saeran is practically begging Yoosung to prove him wrong, to give him one reason to stop believing his own thoughts.  Yoosung freezes.

"Yes. I would,” Yoosung says earnestly.

"Saeran." The words slip out of him before he can filter it. Then, he holds his breath, hoping Yoosung didn’t hear his dead name and will just go to the fuck to sleep.

"Is... is that your name?" he whispers, his voice barely audible.

"Once.”

Saeran didn't know his heart could race this fast. He wonders if he's going to have a heart attack. This pounding makes existing in his skin uncomfortable, and Yoosung’s body is so close...

"It's not anymore?" Yoosung asks carefully. He hasn’t stopped stroking his cheek. Saeran hates that it feels nice to be touched so gently.

"Why are you being nice to me?" Saeran suddenly rolls onto his side and is surprised at how close Yoosung had gotten when he was turned away. They're now face to face. Saeran sucks in a ragged breath.

"I... I… b-because I want to."

"You help broken people. I see now." Saeran catches Yoosung’s hand on his cheek and laces their fingers together. Yoosung looks fearful for a moment, like Saeran is about to bend his fingers the wrong way or dig his nails into his skin. He settles when he seems to realize Saeran has only laced their fingers together.

"I... I don't think you’re b-broken."

"Are you going to betray me?"

Saeran notices he's crying again. They both are. Everything feels so delicate right now. Like it could shatter at any moment.

"I d-don't know how I would, even if I wanted to."

"Are you going to abandon me too?" It appears that, now, Saeran is asking more questions.

"I... I'm not going to abandon you.”

Was that a lie? Saeran can’t tell. Yoosung doesn’t look like he’s lying. There’s plenty of emotion in his face: fear, confusion, hesitation. Is he empathizing with Saeran? But he doesn’t look like he’s lying. Liars have such obvious tells, especially around him when they’re also horrified, but Yoosung isn’t acting like them. Saeran feels his lips perk up at the corners. A half smile, but a smile nonetheless. The last time he genuinely smiled had to be years ago. It feels good.

"Go to sleep, Yoosung,” Saeran coos gently.

"Can I call you by your name?"

"It’s not safe.”

“O-okay… goodnight,” Yoosung murmurs softly. His voice is so unbelievably pleasant.

Saeran closes his eyes and listens to the rapid thump of his heartbeat. He fully expects Yoosung to pull away, but as the minutes pass, he doesn’t move. He’s not trembling, so he isn’t afraid… so then, why…? Saeran is just going to hurt Yoosung come morning. He said it before. It wasn’t a promise or a ‘maybe,’ it was an absolute fact.

Come morning, Saeran will exact revenge on Yoosung for seeing this side of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Ely's duty once again, but they have exams so it might be delayed. Just a warning ya'll.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoosung's POV by Ely  
> sorry the wait's been so long orz

Something Yoosung has always known about himself is how much he’s comforted by physical contact. He likes touching people, and he knows some people don’t like it but he had always considered it a good trait. What could be bad about wanting to touch people?

But right now it’s a huge issue. It’s why he touched this man… Saeran, so gently last night. It was as much to comfort himself as it was to comfort him. It’s laughable, really, how he’s attempting to find comfort in the man who kidnapped, drugged and threatened to kill him, but he can’t help it. He has no one else to hold, and Yoosung needs reassurance.

When Yoosung had woken up next to him on the floor yesterday, he’d been cuddled up against him. Yoosung had been terrified at the thought of waking him by struggling, because if Saeran had woken up and they’d been in that position, he doesn’t know what he might have done. In that moment he’d been conflicted, and that conflict had made him feel like he might throw up. He shouldn’t be conflicted. Saeran was trying to _cuddle_ him. There’s no way that could be anything but bad. But a part of Yoosung didn’t want him to stop, and the other more rational part of him made him feel queasy at that thought. He had looked so innocent while he was sleeping, and Yoosung had to actively remind himself what he’d done to him. As soon as he remembered, he’d been desperately fighting off a panic attack as he moved away.  He’d been mumbling in his sleep, but Yoosung hadn’t been able to understand or process whatever he was saying, until he’d said those words that are still ringing through his head.

_“Please don’t leave.”_

They had been loud and clear, and felt more real than anything he’d ever heard before. That had thrown him off.

_He’s a monster, Yoosung. You don’t owe him anything. He’ll hurt you if you don’t move._

The worst part of all this is trying to understand his own emotions. Whenever he gets called ‘pet’ or ‘good boy’, part of him reacts to it in a disgusting way he doesn’t even want to think about. He desperately tries to shove it down, but there seems to be nothing he can do. He’s always felt the constant need to impress and please people, and it’s surfacing at the worst time.

At night Saeran was softer. Yoosung could feel the change in him when he had put the suit on and Saeran had asked to paint his nails for him. He’d been conflicted, definitely, but… nicer. Kinder. Someone Yoosung found he wanted to help and reassure. Maybe if he’s like this every night he can get through to him. Maybe he can stop Saeran from hurting him. He knows he should be disgusted by his touch, but it had comforted him. It was soft, and nothing like the pain he’d inflicted on him before.

The suit had seemed like something to purposefully throw him off balance and confuse him. He had expected to be humiliated and made to walk around in his underwear or his dirty clothes. Yoosung hadn’t known how to react, and putting it on had hurt more than he’d expected. The last time he’d worn something like that had been Rika’s funeral. He felt as though wearing it would corrupt her memory somehow. He hadn’t wanted to ruin it by bringing her into a situation like this, but he’d had no choice.

Every word, every question… he was never sure whether it was crossing the line. He can’t even figure out where the line is. It seems to be moving and warping all over the place and he can’t keep up. All he can do is be kind. He’s always tried to be kind to people, especially people in need, and he feels like Saeran needs him even if he doesn’t realise yet. When Saeran was talking to him about wanting to die, Yoosung couldn’t help but feel like the things he was saying must have been how Rika felt before she…

He hadn’t wanted to dwell on that. He needs to focus on the present.

He hopes that maybe today will be different. Maybe his kindness will have soaked through.

For a moment, Yoosung wonders why his arm is aching as he slowly wakes up. When he opens his eyes, everything comes flooding back. The injection. How it had made him feel. What _was_ that stuff? All he knows is that it had hurt and made him feel oddly disconnected from his own body, but also dangerously close to being pushed over the edge of… something. Something he couldn’t even identify. In hindsight, that’s terrifying. He’s being played like a game. His eyes feel raw from crying so much.

Did last night really happen? Saeran isn’t here in the bed anymore. What does that mean? Does that mean he’s angry? But if he were angry wouldn’t he have hurt him when he’d woken up?

Yoosung is surprised to find his leash is loose. He’s not tied to anything, and his brain is spinning as he reaches out to take hold of it, staring at it in his hand. He could escape right now. His limbs are aching less than before, his wrists are no longer tied, and he’s not covered in blood anymore. But… if there’s a chance he can save Saeran…

He promised him he wouldn’t leave. That shouldn’t mean anything to him, but he’s shocked and somewhat repulsed to find it does. When he’s calm and not lashing out, Yoosung feels the undeniable urge to _help_ him.

He’s hungry, he’s thirsty, and he needs to use the toilet. He decides the easiest one of those to solve immediately is going to the toilet. Maybe he can drink some water from the tap, too. He pushes himself into a sitting position and swings his legs over the side of the bed, head spinning both from having just woken up and from suddenly having the freedom to be able to do this. He gets to his feet, swaying slightly, and heads towards the bathroom.

He goes quietly so he doesn’t draw attention to himself, but it’s not long before he hears a sudden stomp from behind him and feels the leash tug him violently to a stop. Saeran’s standing on it.

“Where’s the dog going?”

Yoosung closes his eyes. Saeran’s angry again, and any hope he had left over from last night shatters.

He twists to look at him and feels terror shoot through him at the sight of the needle in his hand. Another injection. “I… I j-just need to… you know. Use the, uh… the toilet.” His voice is weak and he’s stammering.

“I don’t recall giving permission,” he says in a voice so casual it chills Yoosung to the bone. How is this the same person? He steps forward on the leash again, causing Yoosung to choke and stumble, and he continues stepping forward until Yoosung has no choice but to lay on the ground as the weight underneath his feet holds the leash down to the carpet. He can barely breathe. “I’ve got a present for you!” he sings, bending down and reaching for Yoosung’s arm. The one already scarred.

“Wait!” Yoosung yelps, trying to talk through the tightness of the collar. “I-I promised I w-wouldn’t leave. You don’t need to do that!” He tries to move his arm away from the needle. He still doesn’t know what the hell that stuff is.

“Tempting offer, but no dice,” Saeran responds, lifting Yoosung’s arm above his head to peel the bandage away. He presses the tip of the needle to Yoosung’s skin, which is still aching and screaming and more painful than anything he’s ever felt. “If you squirm again, I’ll have to hurt you. I’ll make you my slut.”

“No!” Yoosung screams, but he has no choice but to keep his arm completely still so he doesn’t accidentally stab himself with the needle. He can feel where it’s pressing against the old wound already. “No! No! P-please, I don’t want this. I don’t want to b-be your… but… I don’t want th-this, please.”

“That’s what all the sluts say,” he growls as he shoves the needle into his skin far too quickly. Yoosung screams and kicks his legs. It hurts even more than yesterday. He’s not saying anything coherent right now, and tears are rolling down his face openly as he screams himself hoarse. He feels like he might pee himself, and that should really be the least of his worries right now, but he’s terrified of what the man – of what Saeran – will do if he ruins this outfit he got for him.

Yoosung barely notices as the needle is pulled out and Saeran pats the bruises gently. “You didn’t move your arm at all. Good boy,” he says almost fondly. Yoosung is sobbing too hard to respond, and he instantly pulls his arm back towards himself, cradling it against his body as though that will stop whatever’s just been put into his veins. He wants to roll over and curl up into a ball, but Saeran’s still standing on the leash so he can’t move.

“You were so good just now. I’ll let you use the bathroom.” He stands up and tugs his leash, showing Yoosung it’s time for him to stand.

Yoosung’s sobs are still shaking through his body, but he manages to push himself to his feet. “W-what is that s-stuff?” he stammers, terrified of the answer.

“Don’t know.”

He doesn't know? Is that... is he telling the truth? Yoosung doesn't know why he would lie about that. Before Yoosung even has a chance to respond, Saeran tugs at the leash and pushes him into the bathroom, turning his back to him in the entranceway.

“I’m not moving, so get over it. You’re lucky I’m even letting you take a piss. I don’t want you ruining that nice outfit.”

Yoosung walks over to the toilet and slowly unbuttons the pants he's wearing. He angles himself as best as he can so Saeran can't see. He doesn't really know why anymore. It's not like it will change anything, but he just wants to preserve as much of himself as he can.

He tries to remember last night. Saeran had been so gentle. What changed? Yoosung doesn't know, but he still wants to help. Despite everything he's done, he wants to help him find the person he was last night now that he knows it’s in there somewhere.

Yoosung’s still crying and shaking, but by some miracle he manages not to get any on his clothes. He shakily does his pants up again, but he doesn’t turn around yet, trying to control his breathing for a moment. He’s so physically exhausted from how much he’s cried over the past few days, but he can’t seem to stop.

Saeran turns around and hooks Yoosung’s leash on the showerhead, giving him enough freedom to stand outside the tub. He starts removing his shirt.

“What are you doing?!” Yoosung asks in shock.

“Taking a shower?” Saeran says as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He turns the shower on and starts unbuttoning his pants. Yoosung lets out a squeak and turns away. He’d figured Saeran only wanted to watch him while he was showering or using the toilet for… for some kind of twisted display of control. But apparently he just doesn’t seem to think of nudity as something shameful or sexual. Not that it inherently is, but… Yoosung wonders what the hell kind of place he was brought up in.

He hears Saeran step in the shower, and he clutches at the hem of his shirt. His arm is aching, and his entire body is still trembling with fear. He wants to talk to the Saeran he was speaking to last night, even though he was sad. Yoosung knows how to deal with sad people, but he doesn’t know how to deal with angry people who force injections into him and threaten him with such awful things. It’s all too much. He wishes he could sit down and curl up in a ball, but he can’t because of the leash. The muscles in his legs feel weak. He wonders what would happen if he fell and started choking to death. Would Saeran help him? Or would he just leave him to die?

At this point, Yoosung doesn’t know which would be worse.

Eventually, the shower shuts off and Saeran steps out, grabbing a towel and leaving the room wordlessly. Yoosung doesn’t know what to do. Is he supposed to take a shower now? His knees are shaking, but he still can’t sit down. The best he can do is slump against the wall as he whimpers and cries, clutching his arm to try and stop it hurting so much. It doesn’t work.

He’s still desperately hungry, but his thirst is a more pressing issue. He needs to stop crying or he’ll get too dehydrated to function, but he _can’t_. His throat feels as though it’s getting drier and drier as each minute passes, and he wonders how Saeran would react if he walked back into the bathroom to find Yoosung dead against the wall. It’s unsettling how much Yoosung’s considering his own death, but he supposes it’s what will happen eventually. He doubts Saeran plans on keeping him alive much longer.

 

* * *

 

Time passes. It must be hours. Yoosung is exhausted, but he feels his emotions ebb out of him slowly until he’s entirely numb. He isn’t sure how much longer he can keep standing up, and he wants to call out and ask for a drink or just… just _something_. He doesn’t know why he’s been left here like this. Is this a part of his game?

 

* * *

 

He’s left for so long that he feels his emotions slowly start returning to him. That must be the drug wearing off already. How long has it _been_? Maybe there was a chance for him to unhook the leash and escape, but Yoosung has no idea where Saeran is or if he still has the gun. The thought of scrambling to escape only to die an inch from freedom feels terrifying and extremely likely. Fantasizing about death or not, Yoosung isn’t about to get himself killed by doing something stupid.

He considers calling Saeran’s name, but he isn’t sure that would be the best thing to do right now.

“I’m thirsty,” he calls hoarsely. His throat is raw and his voice is almost non-existent from the screaming earlier. He doesn’t really expect a response.

The sound of shuffling, a tap turning on and off, and then footsteps padding down the hall, and suddenly Saeran reappears in the doorway holding a glass of water in his hand. Yoosung feels his breath catch in relief. That is, until he sees the downright evil smile on his face.

“What did you say?” Saeran asks, bringing the glass to his lips and takes a deep gulp.

“I’m thirsty?” he says uncertainly. He looks at the glass in Saeran’s hand and feels like his throat dries up even more at the sight of it.

“And what can you offer me in return?”

Saeran holds the glass close to his face and sloshes the water around with small flicks of his wrist.

Yoosung swallows. “Don’t you already… own me?” he says, looking down in shame. He can’t look at the glass anymore or he might pass out. His legs are already shaking like crazy. “I have nothing left,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Oh? Do I own you?” Saeran sounds surprised and excited.

Yoosung bites his lip to try and stop another sob. He shouldn't have asked for the water. He could have just... drank from the shower. God, why didn't he think of that before?

“That's what you keep saying,” he says quietly.

Saeran steps closer. He’s close enough now that Yoosung can feel his breath brushing his cheeks.

“I do, but is it true?” he asks, baring his teeth.

Yoosung squeezes his eyes shut. “I-I don't know,” he whimpers. Saying 'no' would be wrong, but saying 'yes' feels too much like admitting defeat, and Yoosung still wants to cling onto as much hope as possible. It looks as though Saeran is going to try and shatter it as thoroughly as he can.

“Let’s play a game.” Saeran leans forward and grabs Yoosung’s waist with his free hand. “If you’re a good boy I’ll let you have some water.”

Yoosung flinches at the touch. “A g-good boy?” he stammers. What the hell does that mean? And why does it still make him feel so… _no_. It doesn’t make him feel anything but scared.

“Yes,” Saeran purrs. His voice is low and raspy and suddenly has an entirely new tone to it that makes Yoosung's body tense up with fear. He isn't sure what to do. “Say it. Tell me you’re a good boy, Yoosung.”

His finger starts tracing patterns on Yoosung’s hip, and Yoosung shivers under the touch.

“I…” He gulps. “W-why?”

“I own you, right? So why does the why of it matter?” Saeran lifts the glass and slowly starts pouring its contents onto the floor. “Tell me you're a good boy or I won't have any water left for you.”

“I… I’m a g-good boy,” Yoosung stammers desperately, and he feels his face heat up. He looks down to hide it, but Saeran moves his hand from Yoosung’s hip up to his face, grabbing his cheeks between his index finger and thumb. He squeezes as he lifts the glass to Yoosung’s lips so he can drink. Yoosung drinks it desperately, taking as much as he can get. It runs down his throat, soothing it for a moment, but he needs more. Now that he's had a taste, he doesn't want to stop, but it ends too soon.

“All gone. Someone’s thirsty.” Saeran smooths Yoosung’s hair and brushes it out his face. “What would you do for more, I wonder?”

Yoosung closes his mouth in an attempt to savour some of the moisture, but it’s gone too quickly. “P-please,” he begs.

Saeran backs away from Yoosung and unhooks the leash from the showerhead before walking out the room. Yoosung stumbles after him, legs shaking.

“Tell me, why did I catch such a cutie watching gay porn? Girls not interesting enough for you?”

Yoosung’s thrown off by the sudden change of topic. “W-why were you looking at that?!” he stammers, and he feels himself blushing furiously.

Saeran spins to face him, walking backwards.

“Because I know everything about the RFA’s members. You’d be shocked to know what that pretty boy actor gets up to in his spare time.” Saeran’s gathering more of Yoosung’s leash in his grip until they’re extremely close. “So, tell me honestly, dog. Why were you watching gay porn?”

Yoosung can feel his lip trembling. “I… I...” Does he really expect him to answer this? His face feels as though it’s burning right now, even though he knows this should be the least of his worries. “I d-don’t know,” he manages to stammer.

“Hmm, I’m not sure I like that answer.” Saeran slides his fingers into Yoosung’s hair and pulls back roughly, exposing his neck. “Do I need to punish you to make you talk?”

“No!” Yoosung squeaks desperately. “I d-don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to answer before I’m forced to cut you.” Saeran flicks open the knife he must have put back in his pocket this morning, because the last time Yoosung remembers seeing it was when they were in bed together. He doesn’t press it to Yoosung’s skin. Yet.

“B-because I like it,” he blurts out as panic shoots through him, and he feels tears start rolling down his cheeks again. Or maybe they’d never stopped. He doesn’t know anymore.

“Ah, and why is that? Even when you were with that woman you still watched it.” Saeran leans in and licks slowly up his cheek, wiping away Yoosung’s tears with his tongue. It’s disgusting, and Yoosung lets out a choked sob as he tries desperately to hold himself together.

“I j-just… I like… I like… I’m…” He can’t say it. He hasn’t even admitted it fully to himself yet. “Is MC okay?” he asks desperately, his head suddenly filled with worry. He can’t believe he’d been so caught up in everything that he’d forgotten to ask about her again.

The knife flies to Yoosung’s throat instantaneously, cutting into his skin a few millimetres. Yoosung lets out a scream of pain.

“She’s dead,” he growls through clenched teeth, “and you will be too if you ever mention her name again.” Yoosung’s scream mangles with a loud sob. He tries to pull away, but Saeran’s holding the leash too tightly. He can feel blood trickling down his neck.

She can’t be dead. Yoosung… he can’t have killed her. Saeran’s lying. He has to be. He would _know_ if she were dead. He would _feel_ it.

Saeran leans down to the other side of Yoosung’s neck – the one without the wound – and kisses him lightly. He leaves a trail of saliva as he kisses up his neck and along his jaw, breathing hotly against his skin. Yoosung shivers and tries to ignore the tingles the feeling sends through his body. Mixed with the pain from the knife it's... he doesn't know how to feel. It's too much all at once. He wants to jerk away, but he _can't_.

“See what happens when you don’t listen?” he murmurs onto Yoosung’s skin. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you keep disobeying.”

“S-sorry,” he whispers. He isn’t sure when his voice dropped to something so quiet. All he knows is that his throat is raw from screaming and his eyes sting from crying so much. Saeran pulls the knife away and steps into the bathroom. Yoosung doesn’t see where he suddenly pulls the medical kit from, but he watches him as he dabs some rubbing alcohol onto some gauze and passes it to Yoosung.

“For your wound,” he explains as he wipes the blood off the pocket knife with some extra gauze. Yoosung looks at him in terror and confusion. Why does he do this? Why not just leave the wound open to infection?

Yoosung presses the gauze against the cut and flinches when it burns.

"Why are you h-healing it?" His brain is fuzzy and he isn't quite sure whether his words are making sense anymore. The sting of the alcohol is grounding him a little, but he's starting to feel odd again.

"Because I said I'd take care of you," Saeran says stoically, rubbing the knife a little too long. “Are you hungry?”

Yoosung focuses on his brain long enough to feel the emptiness of his stomach. “Yes,” he says.

Saeran puts the knife into his pocket and stands.

“What do you want to eat?” he asks as he walks out the room, leaving the leash. He pauses and waits for Yoosung to follow. Yoosung blinks in confusion at the leash for a moment before cautiously stepping forwards to follow him.

“What… do I want?” he echoes in disbelief.

“Yes, what do you like to eat?” Saeran asks as Yoosung follows him down the hall and to the kitchen. He opens a cupboard door and gestures inside. There’s not much food in there, but it’s probably enough for a few days. “You cook, right?”

Yoosung frowns. “Yeah…” he says uncertainly, looking at the food. “I… you want me to cook?” He’s not sure he’s understanding this right. His brain is spinning too much.

“Only if you want to,” Saeran mumbles, closing the cupboard doors slowly.

“Is this a trick?” Yoosung blurts out before he can stop himself. He doesn’t usually say that out loud, but for some reason the filter between his brain and his mouth doesn’t seem to be working properly right now.

“Why would it be a trick?” Saeran asks, sounding genuinely confused and surprised.

“I don’t know. Is it… a test to see if I say the right thing?” Wow, okay. Yoosung needs to stop his mouth before he gets hurt.

“Look, do you want to fucking cook or not?” Saeran sounds like he’s losing his patience.

“I… I…” Yoosung stammers. This is one of those moments that feels too surreal to not be a dream. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Saeran brushes past Yoosung, and he watches as he heads into another room and retrieves a laptop. Then he returns to the kitchen and sits on the floor. Yoosung looks at him in disbelief. Is he serious?

He turns to the cupboards. There isn’t really much food in there, but he’ll just have to figure something out. He reaches up and grabs some cans, wincing as his arm screams in pain. This is going to be harder than he thought.

There’s a can of lentils and a can of small, peeled potatoes. This is usually the base for a vegetable curry, but it doesn’t look like this house has much in way of spices. Thank god, there’s at least salt and pepper. Yoosung opens the can with an old can opener he finds, and dumps the contents into a shallow pan. He sets the stove to medium heat, and it’s almost a shock when it even functions, what with all the buttons it’s missing. It fits the aesthetic of this place. Everything here feels like it’s something that was abandoned.

It feels nice to cook, even if it’s just subpar canned ingredients. His legs are still shaking and his body is aching and exhausted but cooking helps him feel… normal. It feels like time to himself, even though Saeran’s still there. Yoosung intentionally keeps his back turned.

It’s weird now that he has a name to call him by. It almost doesn’t feel right, especially when he’s hurting him. It feels as though he has so many different personalities that he can’t assign any one name to him to cover them all. Saeran is a nice name. He decides to use that for when he’s being gentle, and… he doesn’t know what he’ll do the rest of the time.

There’s no table, so they sit on the floor to eat together. Yoosung doesn’t know what to say. There’s an odd awkwardness hanging in the air. Yoosung knows this isn’t the best he’s ever cooked, but right now it tastes like the most incredible thing in the world to him.

“I hope you like it,” he mumbles. He’s not sure why it matters.

Suddenly, Saeran casts his plate aside and abruptly stands up, going to the bathroom. Yoosung blinks after him in surprise. When he returns, he’s got some kind of cream on his finger. He drops to his knees in front of him and starts gently rubbing the cream on the knife mark he inflicted earlier. The touch is soft, but Yoosung still flinches. He tries to stay as still as he can. Nothing about this situation can possibly be called normal. Why does he cut him open just to fix him straight away? What’s the point? Is it control? Does he like watching Yoosung suffer? Does he think if he heals him every time, the marks won’t show and he can do it again more quickly? Yoosung doesn’t know.

He’s being so gentle, and he’s not sure what to say.

“Thank you,” he whispers. Why is he thanking him? He doesn’t know anymore. He can’t keep analysing everything that happens like there’s some kind of logical explanation. His brain is still spinning, and he just hopes he won’t get angry about being thanked for doing something… nice. Can this be called nice? He supposes in some weird, twisted way it is.

“Does it still hurt?” Saeran asks, retracting his finger and wiping the excess cream on his pants. He sits back down and grabs his plate of food again.

Yoosung blinks at him in surprise, and his mouth opens and closes twice before he can speak.

“Y-yeah,” he stammers.

“Of course it does.” Why does he sound disappointed? “The food tastes good, I guess.”

Yoosung isn’t sure what to say to that, so he just goes back to eating his own food. He doesn’t know why he cares so much what Saeran thinks of his food. Does he want to impress him? He doesn’t feel like that’s what this is. Maybe he’s just hoping for some kind of respect, and if that means trying to be nice in every situation, no matter what, Yoosung will try. He _has_ to. It’s the only way things could possibly get better.

The pause has been too long for Yoosung to respond, but he does anyway.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Did you poison it?” Saeran asks, his voice so casual it sounds like he’s asking about the weather.

“I… no?” Yoosung splutters, taken aback by the accusation. “How would I have done that even if I’d wanted to?”

“There’s rat poison in the cupboard.” His eyes seem locked on the floor.

“Oh,” Yoosung says, unsure what to do with this information. “Well… no, it’s not poisoned. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Can you… next time you cook?” Saeran drops his plate and the chopsticks clatter and roll across the floor, making Yoosung jump.

“No,” he says a little more firmly. “I would never do that.”

“God, stop being such a fucking pussy,” Saeran says, sounding exasperated. “You realise I won’t let you leave, right? There’s no other way to get away from me unless you kill me.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” Yoosung says quietly. “I d-don’t ever want to hurt anyone.” Is that a weakness? Surely it shouldn’t be.

“Then you’re gonna die! Is that what you want? Eventually I’ll get bored of you and kill you.” His voice is getting more and more hysterical. Yoosung cowers away, clutching his plate.

“I don’t want to die,” he says, and he can hear how pathetic his voice sounds as he tries to hold back his sobs again. If he keeps crying he’s only going to get hurt.

“Go drink some water. You’re still thirsty, right? I don’t want you dying before I’m ready to kill you.”

Yoosung stays sitting for a moment, and then his eyes find Saeran’s plate lying on the floor. “Do you… should I clean these?” He isn’t sure why he’s offering. Maybe to change the subject.

“Do whatever you fucking want.” Saeran grabs his laptop and goes back into the other room.

Yoosung doesn’t know if he said something wrong, but he feels a little better now that he’s alone in the kitchen. He pushes himself to his feet and picks up the other plate and chopsticks before heading to the sink. He doesn’t have anything to wash them with, so he just runs them under the water until they look reasonably clean and then puts them in the sink.

He grabs a glass and fills it, drinking it desperately. He has two full glasses before he realises he should probably slow down, so he sips the third more slowly. He screws his eyes shut. If he ignores the pain in his body hard enough, he can pretend he’s at home.

He wonders if Seven will ever find him.

It’s peaceful, just standing here drinking water. Chances are, Saeran will be occupied for a while with whatever he does on his laptop.

Suddenly, he feels the leash being yanked violently and his eyes fly open. The glass slips through his grip and smashes on the floor as his breath is cut off, and he barely has enough space to choke. His hands fly to the collar in desperation, trying to loosen it.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Saeran screams, and suddenly he’s let go of the leash he pulled so roughly. It’s so abrupt that it causes Yoosung to stumble forwards, his bare feet crunching painfully on the glass. He grips hold of the sink and coughs loudly. One of his hands clutches at the collar, trying to loosen it in any way he can so he can breathe properly. “Wh-what did I d-do?”

No response. Yoosung steps off the glass and falls to the floor just as something’s thrown at him. At first he can’t see what it is through his blurry vision, but then he identifies the items as a broom and dustpan. He’s crying again, and now his feet are bleeding. It’s stinging and painful and he’s not sure he can walk.

“I’m s-sorry,” he sobs, hunching over on himself as his body shudders.

Saeran storms out the room again, and this time he doesn’t come back. Yoosung isn't sure how he's supposed to stand now. He doesn't have anything to clean the blood on his feet, so he can't see how bad the cuts actually are. He grips hold of the counter and tries to pull himself up, but ends up letting out a hiss of pain and falling back down. It's no use. It hurts too much.

He can’t walk anymore. He doesn't know what that means for him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saeran/unknown POV  
> Written by Blackprose

Unknown settles onto the floor of the living room, the room adjacent to the kitchen. He opens the lid of his laptop, eyes flicking up momentarily then back down to the screen when he realizes Yoosung isn't following him. Good. He can work more efficiently without that hovering anxiety-ridden excuse for a person.

Unknown opens up his back door into the RFA client, and logs into the chat room undetected. They’re all logged on and discussing plans again. It’s somewhat satisfying that no one seems to have noticed him, the proverbial fly-on-the-wall, plotting their individual ruin.

According to the RFA chat room, Luciel has already visited the old location, and told everyone it's been burned to ash. No trace of the kidnapper or Yoosung. Luciel isn't convinced that they're dead, but Zen appears to be thinking the worst. He's so over dramatic, even through text. The only member that appears to be missing from this spectacle is MC, the current girl of Yoosung’s affections. No one has explicitly mentioned the Saviour’s apartment erupting into brimstone and ash yet… they all seem too preoccupied with Yoosung to even be focusing on MC. Was she really not that important to any of them? No, that makes no sense, because he was originally targeting her, and they all very much seemed to care then.

Whatever. They’re all expressing their concern over Yoosung like puppets reciting their script. The warm, fuzzy feeling of group camaraderie and support makes Unknown’s stomach twist into knots and whatever food he just consumed turn to acid.

Does anyone care for him as much as the RFA cares for Yoosung?

The answer is a resounding and inarguable no. Unknown finds he very much wants to hurt Yoosung now, almost gain some type of retribution for the good vibes he had to read in the chat room. He abandons the laptop and stalks to the kitchen, where he discovers Yoosung desperately drinking water. Unknown wraps his fingers tenaciously around the leash, watching the water trickle down Yoosung’s chin, ensuring he’s completely engrossed in his actions before Unknown tugs on the leash violently, hoping to hear him cough and choke.

The result was even better than expected. For a moment. Those purple eyes fly open in shock and he starts to cough and sputter into the glass. Then, Unknown  regrets his spur of the moment decision  because he did not account for the glass slipping through Yoosung’s fingers and smashing off the counter and the floor. His hands fly to the collar in desperation, trying to loosen it. But Unknown couldn’t give two shits about Yoosung’s pain.

Shards and water scatter everywhere, and Unknown backs away from Yoosung abruptly, suddenly frightened. Shattering glass pulls all sorts of undesirable memories from the most remote corners of his mind; it reminds him of his mother when she'd get drunk and rowdy enough to invent new ways to punish Saeran and Saeyoung, the worst when she found shattering glass unsatisfying enough against plaster wall and instead chose to smash them off of skin and bone.  

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he screams, holding his hands over both ears as he relives his childhood in small flashes.

"Wh-what did I d-do?" Yoosung chokes out, breathlessly.

Unknown releases the leash and steps back, amazed he has the concentration to ensure he steps around the broken glass scattered across the floor like caltrops.

"I'm s-sorry," Yoosung sobs, hunching over on himself as his body shudders.

Unknown leaves the room again and returns minutes later with a broom and dust pan from the bedroom closet, which he throws at Yoosung. The little fucker did that on purpose. Unknown leaves the kitchen wordlessly and slides back onto the floor in the living room.

He left the laptop open and unguarded (a stupid decision, in hindsight) but Yoosung was too preoccupied to have done anything nefarious in the small time Unknown left him alone. To his astronomical annoyance, the RFA chatroom is still pinging away - they're still planning and worrying about Yoosung and it's fucking infuriating.

He logs out of the chat room client and shuts the laptop with more force than required. His eyes sting, so he pushes at them with his index fingers, hoping to push whatever small traces of emotion away with brute force and willpower. God, he needs more drugs.

After about 30 minutes, Unknown is able to compose himself enough and stifle his sentimentality. He checks on Yoosung in the kitchen, who’s on his hands and knees on the floor, trying to sweep glass simultaneously off the floor and off the surface of his palm. It looks just as ridiculous as it sounds... but Unknown is mildly impressed Yoosung managed to get most of the glass into the trash can.

"What did you do that for?" Unknown mumbles under his breath, snatching the broom from Yoosung and depositing the last bits of glass into the garbage. He focuses his steely gaze on Yoosung.

"It... it was an accident," he stammers in response, clearly cowering away from the force of glare. Unknown is relieved he’s managed to kill all emotions besides the useful one: anger. "I d-didn't mean to, I'm s-sorry."

“Your feet?” Unknown asks.

“What?” Yoosung responds in confusion.

“How are your feet?” Unknown repeats, using the full sentence this time. Unknown was always told that Yoosung was bright, but so far he’s only seen a pathetic, stammering mess. There’s blood on the floor from Yoosung’s feet. It isn’t as much as Unknown is used to seeing accompanying broken glass, but it’s enough that he noticed it.

Unknown is beginning to think he should just attach the medical kit to his hip. Between deliberately hurting him and Yoosung hurting himself by accident, the kid’s a little worse for wear.

He deposits the broom and dustpan beside the garbage and goes to retrieve the medical kit from the bathroom. When he returns with the kit, he flips it open and grabs an alcohol swab and tweezers.

"Show me your feet," he demands.

Yoosung flinches, then cautiously stretches his legs out so Unknown can look at his feet. It’s not like he has much of a choice, after all, unless he wants to continue living with glass wedged painfully in his skin. Unknown understands with intimate familiarity what that is like. He lifts Yoosung’s foot by the ankle and sets it on his lap so he can take a closer look.

Saeyoung and Saeran used to tend to each others’ wounds after incidents like this. So, Unknown employs skills from another life to help Yoosung. He's good at this. He's done it countless times before. He knows how easily glass gets into the skin and how deep it can nestle.

It takes him a good hour to clean and remove all the glass he can before he sits back on his heels and stretches his arms over his head to alleviate the ache in his neck and shoulders.

"The rest should come out naturally, but you shouldn't walk too much for a while." Even to his own ears, Unknown’s voice sounds softer, likely due to the memories of his brother and the solidarity they shared resurfacing.

Yoosung stares at him for a second, like he’s trying to puzzle together some reason for Unknown’s motives and only sees an uncompleted mess. Well, Yoosung would be reassured to know that he isn’t the only one.  

"H-how do I move around?”

"I used to crawl," Unknown offers, the closest glimpse Yoosung will ever get to understanding his troubled past. "Or if you don't want to move, you can stay there."

"Y-you used to crawl?” Yoosung’s eyes widen and he gives Unknown this look that suggests pity. It’s sickening. "I... I can crawl," he says determinedly when he notices Unknown is offering no more information.

"Okay. Go lay down or something, then. I have some work to do."

"O-okay."

It was in his best interest to ensure Yoosung’s mobile in case they need to relocate again, so then... why is he so pleased that Yoosung isn't looking at him like he's dangerous? Yoosung almost looks like he's starting to trust him, and that makes Unknown feel... conflicted.

No one cares about him the way the RFA cares for Yoosung. Maybe it’s that injured puppy look that causes such an inspired response from people he encounters. Is this why the RFA cares about Yoosung so much? To his dismay, Unknown finds he doesn't want to hurt Yoosung anymore.

At least not right now.

Breaking off whatever unspoken conversation they were having through their eyes, Yoosung gingerly pushes himself onto his knees and starts to crawl towards the bedroom, the leash trailing behind him. The irony isn’t lost on Unknown. Yoosung really is starting to become his pet, whether he wants to or not.

***

There’s only so long Unknown can stare at a screen full of green text and binary before he starts making clumsy and pathetically amateur mistakes. His thoughts are jumbled by a multitude of things: memories of his perverse family life resurfacing, that weirdly trusting look in Yoosung’s purple eyes, and the lack of medicinal supplements to assist his concentration. Needless to say, he’s feeling distracted and somewhat fuzzy, like any coherent thoughts have been smothered by a particularly determined rain cloud. Getting any work done in this state is useless. He keeps screwing up small bits of the code and then backtracking to locate his mistakes. His eyes feel droopy, and he isn't sure if it's from exhaustion or withdrawal.

It’s useless working like this. He’s only going to compromise their location. Saeran wishes he could just completely disconnect from the internet, that would be the safest method… only problem is, with no phone, the internet is his only way of reaching the Saviour.

When he finally crawls into bed with Yoosung, he can feel his pet trembling, sending tremors through the whole bed, so he grabs Yoosung by the waist to hold him still. It doesn’t help. In fact, it appears to make it worse, so Saeran pulls him so they are laying back to chest.

"You'll keep me awake," he murmurs in Yoosung’s ear softly, even though he knows it's a lie. He just wants to leech Yoosung’s warmth like he did last night... and maybe he'll be lovable, too.

"S-sorry," Yoosung stammers. Saeran wonders if that’s almost a reactionary response at this point; apologize before his irrational anger can explode, pat the bull instead of grabbing it by the horns.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Saeran whispers.

"I... I'm scared," he whispers.

"I know. I'm sorry." He can feel it again, that ache in his heart. Why does it only happen at night?

"How long are we going to stay here?" Yoosung whispers, as though speaking too loudly will destroy the gentle person Saeran seems to be now.

"I'm... not sure," he answers truthfully. There's no way they could stay here together forever. There isn't enough food. He'd need to eventually leave to stock up, but it's an hour's drive into town and he couldn't bring Yoosung with him... and leaving him alone would be just as dangerous. "Do you want me to stop touching you?" He's referring to the cuddle. Yoosung feels rigid. Maybe he should let go.

There’s a pregnant pause.  "Are you g-going to hurt me?"

"Not tonight." Saeran gingerly withdraws his arms. If that's what Yoosung’s response was, then he didn't need to hear a 'no.'  And he didn't want to.

"If y-you're not g-going to..." he starts to protest, but then trails off.

It sparks a flame of hope inside Saeran’s chest, warming his long dead heart marginally. "If I'm not going to what?"

Did... Did Yoosung actually like the cuddle? Saeran brings his arms close to his chest and hugs himself instead.

"I... I j-just... I d-don't want you to hurt me, but if... if you're n-not going to...I d-don't mind."

"But do you like it?"

Not minding isn't good enough. It's noncommittal.

Yoosung clutches his fists to his chest. "Yes," he whispers hoarsely, like he hates admitting this fact to himself more than he hates saying it to Saeran.

"O-okay..." And his arms slither around Yoosung again. Yoosung relaxes a bit more than before; feeling incrementally less stiff. It’s progress. It’s not like Saeran is the most amiable or predictable of people to try trusting. It’s not like Yoosung has much of a choice, either.

"Why do you change?" Yoosung questions softly.

"What do you mean?"

Saeran can feel his heart start to pound in his chest and he wonders if Yoosung can feel it, too. It's never pounded like this before.

"I... I... you hurt me and then y-you..." he trails off again. "It d-doesn't matter."

"It matters. Just say it."

Yoosung audibly gulps. "You hurt me and then you... help me. And y-you do... you do _this_."

"This is how my Saviour treats me... Is this... Is this not normal?"

"N-no, it's not.”.

"Should I stop touching you, then?"

He couldn't stop hurting him. Even if he wanted to. So, he'll offer to stop being gentle.

"N-no," Yoosung stammers. "Unless... unless you w-want to, I g-guess."

"I don't. I... don't hate being around you." That’s the only way he can explain how he’s feeling. He doesn't hate Yoosung, except for when he thinks of Luciel and the RFA and of how loved he is. And Saeran is very much aware that the anger sprouts from jealousy; jealousy that Luciel gets to have a friend like Yoosung, and jealousy that Yoosung gets to have a (relatively) safe life.

"I don't like it when y-you hurt me." Yoosung is choosing his words slowly. He’s speaking in his softest, gentlest tone; he’s treating Saeran like a feral animal who’s decided to show an ounce of trust while he tiptoes the line between believing in someone and simultaneously understanding that no one deserves his trust.

"I don't like hurting you." There’s a twisted kind of pleasure that stems from enjoying someone else’s pain. In the adrenaline of the moment, Saeran feels like a maestro at an orchestra, creating and eliciting the most delicious music from his victims. However, in the aftermath… after the glow has faded, he’s just left with deep seated feelings of regret. That’s usually when she would find him, the Saviour, and she’d give him another dose. For strength. For his Mission.

Yoosung moves away just enough that he can roll over and face Saeran. It was easier being honest when Yoosung wasn’t staring at him with those doe eyes, like he believes all the bullshit Saeran is spewing. It doesn’t even fucking matter because - excuses or not - he’s still responsible for hurting Yoosung. Does he not understand that? Saeran squeezes his eyes shut because the emotion in Yoosung’s voice feels too raw to be bearable. He can’t even fathom how someone would look at him when they're speaking so softly.

"Then w-why do you do it?"

Ah, there it is. The question on both their minds. Except Yoosung had the courage to voice it aloud.

"I d-don't know.” It’s a lie. Saeran knows. Somewhere inside, he knows. “Because I want to hurt Luciel."

Saeran utilizes his limp grip around Yoosung’s waist and back to pull him close enough so his face is pressed into his chest. Only when Saeran feels Yoosung freeze against him does Saeran dare to open his eyes again. It’s easier when he isn’t looking at Yoosung.

Every time Yoosung touches him, Saeran’s skin sizzles with electricity, overcharging his senses. It’s happened before Saeran is even aware, one hand experimentally on his hip… Yoosung holding him instead of pushing him away.  

"Why Luciel?" Yoosung whispers, voice muffled against Saeran's chest. This feels more comforting than it should.

"He's not welcome in Paradise. He has friends and I have nothing." At Yoosung’s request, the words spill from his lips.

"You could have friends," Yoosung says quietly. This close he can feel Yoosung’s warm breath on his chest. It feels surreal. Saeran wonders how long they can touch like this before he feels the overwhelming need to hurt someone.

"I'm not so sure about that." It seems that speaking above a certain pitch has been forbidden in this hole they have carved for themselves. It’s a spell overtaking the entire room that both of them continue to weave with each of their hushed words.

This is dangerous.

"I think you could. If... if you d-don't hurt people."

"I'm a monster. Don't you know that already?" Saeran wonders if he sounds as desperate as he feels. And he wonders who he's trying to convince more: himself or Yoosung.

When Yoosung goes silent, Saeran hopes that it means the conversation has ended. Then, naively pushing forward, Yoosung whispers: "I don't think you are. I think... I think you're lost."

Maybe.

Saeran needs to let go of Yoosung. He knows this, but trying to move is unsuccessful. His grip loosens on Yoosung, but he's still holding him. He just isn't restraining him anymore.

If Yoosung wanted to move, he could now. Perhaps it's for the best if he does. Yoosung obviously senses the discomfort seeping from Saeran’s pores and aura, because he crumples the edges of Saeran’s shirt in his fist.

"I-I'm sorry you h-have no friends," Yoosung says thickly. It sounds like he’s almost in tears. "I w-wish life had... I wish life had treated you b-better."

Saeran moves his arms from Yoosung and rests one hand on his, specifically the hand on his hip.

"Why are you always crying?" Saeran inquires.

Yoosung tries unsuccessfully to rein in the sobs.  "B-because I'm s-scared and confused and... and I f-feel like no one's ever c-cared about you before and I feel b-bad because... I d-don't know how that feels and I d-don't know how to h-help."

Saeran feels guilty for his behavior earlier. He knew Yoosung was innocent and that he'd need to break him. He _knew_ because he met so many people like him that Saeran had inducted into Mint Eye.  

"You shouldn't be thinking about me. You should be thinking about yourself."

Maybe that's why he feels guilty. No one has ever cared about anyone but themselves around him.

Yoosung shakes his head and grips Saeran tighter. "I c-can't think about myself or I'll... I'll... I can't think about anything, I j-just... I just want it all to s-stop."

Saeran rubs Yoosung’s knuckles with his thumb and uses his free hand to smooth Yoosung’s hair.

"I'll keep you safe," Saeran promises. "Remember?"

The promise does nothing to soothe Yoosung’s nerves, it appears.

"But y-you'll hurt me again," he chokes out.

"Yes," he admits solemnly, because he has no counter argument. Unknown will. That's just fact at this point.

Yoosung whimpers.

"B-but you said you d-don't like it. No one will know if y-you don't," he begs desperately, as if this is something that can be avoided by using logic.

"But then you'll leave. You'll take advantage of me and betray me."

Yoosung shakes his head again. "N-no, I... I w-won't," he says. "If you want someone to stay you should b-be nice to them so they w-want to."

"No one has ever stayed because I was nice.”

Yoosung clutches hold of him more tightly. "Then they're stupid," he says.

Saeran can feel it bubbling in his stomach, but when it reaches his lips he's surprised that it's laughter, not anger. Moments where he craves a gentle touch, both given and reciprocated, feel so rare that Saeran doesn’t fight the urge; he kisses Yoosung’s forehead.

"They... they're the ones that messed up. Not you,” Yoosung insists.

There are so many different feelings inside him right now he can't even begin to untangle the threads. Why did he kiss Yoosung’s forehead? What was he trying to do? He vaguely remembers what it's like to be loved, and it was always in the form of forehead kisses; first, from his mother, then (when she stopped,) from his brother, and finally… from his Saviour, at least in the first few months.

"M-maybe not, but... but it's not your fault." Yoosung continues talking, despite Saeran’s silence. Yoosung probably understands that this type of conversation is somewhat effective, to have a voice speaking on behalf of him, to voice pleasant lies that both of them clearly want to believe are truths. It’s perplexing that Yoosung is more interested in understanding his captor’s psyche than he is in his own well-being. That must be the reason why Yoosung is clinging to him so desperately; they’re both scared and want reassurance.

Yoosung doesn’t want him to turn back into his daytime self; his strong persona.

"Could we be... friends?" Saeran ventures cautiously. He’s exhausted. It must be why he doesn’t have the strength to hold up his barriers. When they’re laying like this, Saeran bemoans the idea of sleep because he understands that the rest and reinvigoration means he can no longer trick his mind into allowing Yoosung to hold him like this.

Yoosung hesitates.

"I... I think if you stopped hurting me, then... I don't know. M-maybe." He pauses. "B-but you're not going to, are you?"

"I... I don't know, but I can try." Sure, he can try; however, Saeran is convinced that it means he won’t succeed.  "I can promise you I won't hurt you tonight.”

"Can I... can I ask why you hate the RFA so m-much?" he says slowly.

"I don't hate the RFA. It’s my Mission to destroy them, but I only hate one member." The truth flows so easily from his lips that he feels relieved he doesn't need to keep up appearances. Why does it matter anyway? He's been abandoned by Mint Eye.

"One...? Seven?"

"Yes." Saeran clenches his jaw and sucks in a deep breath, but he can't stay angry because all he can smell is Yoosung. It’s not something Saeran ever considered before, except now it’s hard to ignore when they are pressed so close together. "You smell nice."

His captive’s breathing is steady, but after Saeran speaks, he hears it hitch in his throat. "I... I do?"

"Yes. Everything about you is nice, isn't it? Even in the RFA chatroom, you're nice."

Close proximity is dangerous. Saeran’s never slept in the same room as his other captives, his Missions. He’s never allowed them to see the melancholy that overtakes him like a sickness at night. He’s never allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of fingers on his hips and back, to enjoy the warmth that radiates off of another person’s body. Is it weird that Saeran is breathing in deeply, half to calm himself and the other half to continue chasing the smell he discovered in Yoosung’s hair? He's never met anyone whose smell made him calm, except maybe Saeyoung…

"I... I try to be n-nice,” Yoosung stammers, his voice a little high-pitched. He’s clearly uncomfortable.

"Mhmm." Saeran isn't focusing much anymore. Exhaustion is starting to set in; he’s getting drunk on the way Yoosung smells. He wishes that smell would seep into his skin and purify his soul.

"I like being nice," Yoosung blurts out just as Saeran closes his eyes and his grip starts to slacken. There’s a part of him that is aware Yoosung just wants to keep him awake longer, to chase away the remnants of who he is during the day. "I d-don't like upsetting people."

"Can you take off the suit jacket?" Saeran mumbles, and his fingers idly trace up Yoosung’s back.

"O-okay," Yoosung responds. He shuffles away a little and sits up slightly so he can pull it off. He looks at it for a moment. "Where should I put it?"

"Hang it up in the closet." Saeran rolls over onto his stomach and pushes his face into the pillow. It isn’t as soft or as warm as Yoosung. In all honesty, it’s a poor substitute. Now that he’s let go of Yoosung, though, there is no good excuse for him to snuggle again.  

There’s a pause and a shuffle, then a helpless, small voice says: "I... I c-can't walk.”

"Right." Saeran slowly sits up and rubs his eyes until they feel sunken into his face and sting from over exposure to a bright computer screen. "I'll do it."

Yoosung thanks him and Saeran snorts in response, too tired to tell him to fuck off. Saeran hasn’t done one nice thing since he’s disrupted Yoosung’s sheltered college life.

After he hangs up the suit jacket, Saeran throws himself back down on the bed, facing the ceiling. He is trying to conjure up a new reason to touch Yoosung, but his thoughts feel like trudging knee-deep through mud. So, Saeran stays quiet. Yoosung curls up next to him, hands underneath his face, watching silently.

Realistically, only a few minutes pass, yet Saeran could barely bear the weight of his gaze. Even from the corner of his eye, he could feel Yoosung purposefully peeling back the layers of his identity and trying to define whatever person he thought he saw underneath.

After all that, Yoosung only has one thing to say.

"Why did you want me to take it off?"

It’s almost laughable that was what he chose to speak about, when Saeran swears he can see a multitude of questions sparking to life in those inquisitive purple eyes of his.

"It was in the way," Saeran answers flatly, trying to chase the disappointment from his voice. Looks like Yoosung doesn't want to snuggle anymore.

"Oh... o-okay. I - are you okay?"

Saeran isn’t okay. He’s fighting off sleep with everything in his being. He runs his hands through his hair, flattening out any unsightly cowlicks, and feigning composure. His trembling hands appear to give that away, however, so he drops his hands limply by his side.

"I was just thinking about something… c-can you touch my hair like this?” Saeran demonstrates again, fighting the urge to clench his fingers into a fist to halt that incessant vibration. It’s exhaustion, Saeran tells himself, it isn’t anxiety. It isn’t that completely taken aback look on Yoosung’s face, the look he fails to hide before resting a hand on Saeran’s head. Experimentally, Yoosung threads his fingers between locks of hair.

"It reminds me of my brother.” Another piece of information Saeran had no business sharing.

"Your brother?" Yoosung whispers.

"Saeyoung… he used to do this when I cried.”

At those words, Yoosung’s purposeful movement falters, and then picks back up almost instantly. Saeran’s exhausted, but it hasn’t dulled his keen senses. In fact, it’s probably made him more aware of Yoosung’s hands and body, close to him in such a way he’s never allowed anyone in years.

"Saeyoung," Yoosung echoes. "What... what was he like?"

Saeran closes his eyes. He convinces himself it's because he can focus on the gentle touch more, but it's mostly because he feels so emotionally overwhelmed he wants to cry. It feels good. Fuck him, it feels good to be touched.

"He protected me." At this moment, Saeran’s willing to engage in any type of conversation if it means Yoosung will keep playing with his hair like this, nails gingerly grazing his scalp and sending shivers down his spine.

"In... in the way you're protecting me?"  

Saeran furrows his brows in thought and purses his lips.

"No, he didn't keep me locked inside and he would sneak me food when I was hungry."

"Oh. What... what happened to him?"

"He abandoned me." Saeran opens his eyes and tries to look at Yoosung, but tears are blurring his vision. Last night he cried softly, but tonight it feels violent and all-consuming. Try as he might, he can't stop these tears falling down his cheeks. "He didn't really love me."

Yoosung continues petting him. Saeran ponders momentarily who really owns whom. Is Yoosung his pet, or has Saeran become so weak he’s now the pet? Then, Yoosung brings up his other hand to cup Saeran’s cheek, making him cognizant of how wet it is, and gently wipes the tears. What the fuck is happening? Saeran can barely comprehend how they’ve gotten to this point.

"I'm so sorry," Yoosung whispers. "I... that must have been horrible."

It’s no one’s fault but his own. They would have all stayed if he was less pathetic; if he wasn’t human garbage; if he was a better son or a better brother. Saeran’s crying is a full body experience. His shoulders are shaking; he can't seem to catch his breath; his cheeks are red, and each time he exhales, he hiccups softly.

He's never felt so much pain. When was the last time he cried over Saeyoung? Everytime he did, his Saviour would hit him or drug him until feelings existed only in fiction.

"I hate… I fucking h-hate feeling like this. I just want to d-die."

"It's okay," Yoosung coos softly, and he takes hold of Saeran and pulls him closer, cradling his head against his chest. He doesn't stop stroking his hair. "You'll be okay. I promise you will. I'll... I'll try and help you." He pauses. "If you'll let me."

"I can't be helped. I... just want to disappear."

Saeran is ruining the dress shirt he gave to Yoosung. He's ruining it and he doesn't care because it feels so fucking nice to have someone say nice things to him and touch his hair.

"I hurt you. Why are you being so nice?"

"I want to help you. You deserve to have someone be nice to you."

"I’m not - don’t… don’t waste your time," Saeran says between sobs and uneven breaths.

Yoosung’s fingers stop petting and fluffing his hair. Saeran assumes this means his words have gone through; that Yoosung agreed he’s a waste of time, a failure of a human, and he’s taken steps to distance them from each other. Those thoughts are dashed when he feels Yoosung’s nose rub against the top of his head, Yoosung’s warm breath on his scalp with each exhale and subsequent chilling ihale.

"You're not a waste of time," he mumbles, and Saeran’s face begins to warm. It’s one thing for him to be touching Yoosung, since he’s in an obvious position of power. It’s another entirely for Yoosung to touch him of his own accord, of what he is assuming is a desire to hold Saeran.

"Can you... can you say my name?"

It's been so long since someone acknowledged his dead name, and... He wants to hear it come from Yoosung’s lips. The person who doesn't think he's a monster.

"Saeran.” Yoosung sounds breathless, like saying his name stole it from his lungs. "You're not a waste of time.”

"When you say it, I feel like I can believe it," Saeran says, wiping his face into Yoosung’s chest and working extra hard to even his breathing. "I don't know what I'll be like in the morning, but right now, I feel..." Content? Happy? Captivated? Words fail him. Saeran tries to locate that perfect word, the word that represents how he feels about Yoosung offering his time to trash like himself.

Saeran’s too drained to continue trying to unearth the perfect word, and in his search, he unknowingly falls asleep. One word prime in his mind: yearning. Saeran wants to believe he’s capable of more than this.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait for this chapter. It was really difficult to write so I put it off for a while.
> 
> **WARNING:** This chapter contains sexual assault. If that makes you uncomfortable in any way at all I would suggest not reading it.  
>  Also, the things that happen in this chapter are not resolved until much later on in the fic, but please don't worry because they _will_ be resolved. It'll just take some time.

What had started out as a technique Yoosung had hoped to use to escape is quickly becoming the reason he wants to stay. This softness he sees at night… there’s some kind of potential in there. Potential for healing, but who is Yoosung to do that? For some reason he feels the need to try. No one deserves to feel like that, and he gets the impression none of this has been Saeran’s fault as much as he initially thought. He seems to be under the influence of someone else. For lack of a better word, brainwashed.

It takes Yoosung a moment to realise Saeran’s fallen asleep once his sentence trails off, and he exhales heavily as he tries to process everything. His brain is running more slowly than usual because of his limited food and the exhausting things he endures during the day. No matter which ‘Saeran’ he is, it’s always exhausting. Naturally, he much prefers this version. When they speak like this it feels more freeing. Like perhaps a weight has been lifted and Yoosung is making some kind of progress.

Or maybe he’s just being hopeful.

If Saeran doesn’t even know what he’s going to be like in the morning, how is Yoosung supposed to know what to expect? Strangely enough he finds that in this moment he isn’t scared. He tries to even out his breathing, focusing on Saeran’s steady breaths and attempting to match them.

Feeling Saeran’s unexpectedly soft hair under his fingertips as he lays here reminds him of how strange this whole situation really is. He’s comforting his captor. Is this all part of Saeran’s plan? To play on Yoosung’s need to help people? Or is he genuinely this vulnerable? For some reason Yoosung can’t picture ‘angry Saeran’ and ‘soft Saeran’ as the same person, but it feels genuine.

His hand doesn’t stop stroking it until the moment he falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

When Yoosung wakes, the first thing he notices is that his arms feel strangely empty. It takes him a moment to remember why. He opens his eyes. Saeran’s gone.

The second thing he notices is how much his feet hurt. It’s a pain that both stings and aches, and it shoots through him even when he’s not moving. He remembers the smashed glass and winces.

The third thing he notices is that he really, _really_ needs to use the bathroom, and this time it’s more than just to pee.

The fourth thing he notices it that his shirt is pretty much ruined.

He sits up in bed and rubs his eyes. His head is pounding in a way that’s becoming increasingly familiar because he’s been crying so much. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up about Saeran not hurting him today, but maybe he’ll at least let him go to the bathroom by himself and have a moment alone where he doesn’t have to worry about being watched.

He climbs off the bed onto his hands and knees and starts crawling. His arm is aching and that’s the moment he remembers the needle. Is he going to have to have that again? The thought makes his blood run cold. How long will it be before that stops hurting?

He crawls out the room and heads towards the bathroom, and it’s not long before he hears a sharp voice.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

Yoosung flinches when he hears the harshness in the question. “I-I’m going to the bathroom…?” His words are laced with uncertainty. So much for having more time alone. He just hopes Saeran doesn’t force the injection on him first, because he isn’t sure he’d be able to handle that.

Yoosung hears a long huff from Saeran’s direction and he glances at him out the corner of his eye. He’s sitting in what he assumes is supposed to be the living room, staring at his laptop on his knees. Yoosung waits for a moment, completely still, but Saeran doesn’t do or say anything. So he keeps crawling.

He’s surprised when Saeran doesn’t follow him, and lets out a quiet sigh of relief when he reaches the bathroom. He undoes his pants, pulling them down before he climbs ungracefully up so he’s sitting on the toilet. He wants to be quick in case Saeran changes his mind, but the idea of just a few moments alone feels good.

He finishes fairly quickly and sinks back to the floor, pulling up the pants again. His hands are shaking a little less than they have been so he manages it without too much trouble. There’s no soap by the sink, so Yoosung props himself up as best as he can and just runs his hands under the water. It’s better than nothing, he supposes.

He doesn’t know what to do now. He doesn’t want to anger Saeran by moving around too much, so he slumps against the wall and just waits for whatever today’s going to throw at him.

It’s a few minutes before he hears hasty footsteps heading towards him, and Yoosung clutches his hands against himself. What’s Saeran going to do?

As soon as Saeran gets in the bathroom he barely even glances at him before grabbing the medical kit and shaking the pill bottles. Then he throws them back in the kit and turns to him, his green eyes filled with the rage Yoosung’s so terrified of.

“Why the fuck have you been in here so long?”

Yoosung feels panic and fear shoot through him. His mind races with thoughts of what might happen to him now. He can’t even walk anymore, which means it’ll be even harder to try and get away.

“I d-didn’t know where else to go,” he stammers, voice so small and pathetic it makes him cringe. Saeran doesn’t respond, he just reaches in the medical kit and pulls out a needle. Yoosung flinches and shuffles away, but it’s half-hearted. He knows he has no choice. Saeran flicks the syringe a few times to release all the air bubbles. It’s shaking in his hand and he’s swaying as he positions it over his own arm. Yoosung feels terror shoot through him. How is he supposed to do it like this? His hands are shaking too much for him to do it properly. Yoosung can feel his breathing picking up as he starts to panic, but he desperately tries to calm down before he starts shaking so violently the needle will no doubt tear his skin when it’s his turn.

He watches in horror as the needle presses into Saeran’s own skin and he almost shouts in protest, but his voice catches in his throat and he’s unable to speak. Saeran shudders with what looks like pleasure, making Yoosung’s stomach twist in horror. He’s tensing with pain but his eyes are closed as though he’s savouring every second of it. It’s repulsive. Yoosung thinks he might throw up.

When he’s done, Saeran reaches for another needle. Yoosung shuffles away more purposefully this time.

“Please,” he begs hoarsely, “Not again. M-my arm hurts.”

“Shut up,” Saeran growls. He crawls over to Yoosung and straddles him, pinning his arm to the wall.

“Please. Saeran, please d-don’t.” He’s really starting to panic now.

He feels Saeran freeze for a moment and a deathly silence settles over them, only interrupted by Yoosung’s panicked and desperate breathing.

“You’re lucky I’m not killing you for using that name.” His voice is low but unmistakably angry, and he wastes no more time pressing the tip of the needle into Yoosung’s arm. Yoosung screams and sobs, trying desperately not to move his arm and tear his skin even more but it’s so difficult when all he wants it to yank it away. It hurts more and more each day, with the barely healed wound being reopened and worsened each time. His other hand flies to his hair and he pulls it roughly, hoping the sharp pain will distract him. It doesn’t.

“Hush now. It’ll get better.”

Yoosung hears the glass tube of the syringe shattering on the floor, and Saeran doesn’t even flinch. It’s almost like he didn’t hear it. He settles down onto Yoosung’s lap and tugs his hand from his hair.

“Can’t have you messing up your pretty locks, can I, dog?” Yoosung lets his head drop and he shudders and shakes with his sobs. Can Yoosung play to his soft side? Probably not now that he’s had the drugs, but he has to try. It’s his only choice.

“It n-never gets better. It’s worse every t-time,” he manages to choke out. Saeran grabs the collar around Yoosung’s neck and yanks it hard.

“Want to play a game?” He breathes hotly into Yoosung’s ear and fingers the skin hidden beneath the collar. Yoosung whimpers and feels a shiver go through him.

“G-game?” He doesn’t like the sound of that.

“Remember your browser history?” He bites Yoosung’s earlobe and breathes raggedly. “I think I’ve got a faggot underneath me.”

“W-what?!” Yoosung yelps, and before he knows it Saeran has pressed their crotches together. Yoosung gasps and feels his body shake in terror as he tries to move away.

“No!” he says, but he’s so shocked that his voice has no weight to it. “I’m not!”

“Aren’t you though, you little slut? That bitch was just a rouse, right? You’re telling me you don’t like this?” Saeran asks as he starts moving his hips, grinding their crotches together.

“No,” he whimpers. His blood has run completely cold and boiling hot at the same time as he feels the sheer terror and panic taking hold. His arm is hurting too much from the injection, so he brings the other one up to Saeran’s chest to try and push him away. “I l-love her. Stop!”

Saeran bites down on Yoosung’s earlobe again, and then lets it slide out from between his teeth before he speaks, voice low and teasing. “If you loved her, would you be half hard right now?”

No.

No, he can’t be.

Saeran reaches down between their crotches and squeezes Yoosung’s cock through his pants. Yoosung yelps and sobs, pushing harder against his chest but it doesn’t work. He’s panicking too much. In spite of himself, he feels his face burning.

“Would you have watched gay porn minutes after asking her to be your ‘pre-girlfriend’?” he continues. “Admit it, you’re not interested in her at all. You’d rather be fucked by a man.”

“N-no! I love her! I do! P-Please d-don’t do this.” Yoosung’s words are barely coherent now. Saeran’s squeezing him so hard it hurts, and he hates that his body is responding the way it is. Eventually Saeran lets go of Yoosung’s cock and begins palming him through the fabric of his pants instead. Yoosung feels his cock twitch and he hates himself even more.

“Admit it. You’re a fucking faggot,” he whispers onto Yoosung’s neck moments before biting him hard enough to break the skin. Yoosung cries out in pain. He hates that he’s hard and he hates that a small part of him is enjoying the feeling of someone other than himself touching him. It’s disgusting. He feels like he might throw up.

“I’m n-not,” he whimpers pathetically, still trying to push him away by his chest. Saeran throws his head back and cackles, still grinding their hips together. He moves his hand from between their crotches to capture Yoosung’s hand trying to push him away. He slams it into the wall behind him above his head and holds both his wrists in one hand. Yoosung’s too weak to fight it, as much as he’s trying to.

“I can tell you’re loving this, you slut. Do you want me to make you cum, too?” Yoosung’s sobs shake his body.

“No!” He tries desperately to move away but it’s no use. He’s pinned in a way that if he tries to move, it would only press them even closer together. “I d-don’t… I’m not a s-sl…” He can’t even bring himself to say the word.

“You’re in denial, Yoosung.” Saeran’s voice is soft like honey and it sickens him. “You’ve been thinking about this since you discovered gay porn, haven’t you?”

Saeran’s breathing is starting to turn ragged, and he seems to be focusing more on himself than Yoosung now. Yoosung can feel that he’s hard too.

“No,” Yoosung chokes out for what feels like the thousandth time. His breathing is starting to quicken, and he starts trying even more desperately to move away before something worse than this happens. “I’m n-not gay.”

“Aren’t you though?” Saeran bites down on his neck hard again, and then licks away the blood that he feels well up with hot, sloppy kisses. “I know a faggot when I see one.”

“S-stop calling me th-that,” he begs. His voice is getting more and more desperate and high pitched. “Stop all of th-this, please, I d-don’t…. I c-can’t…” He squeezes his eyes shut and ignores how the pain on his neck shoots through his body and mingles with another feeling that he’s not sure he wants to name. He can feel it building inside him but he tries desperately to push it down. Shouldn’t his panic be suppressing this right now? He’s so scared he can’t even see properly.

Saeran lets one of his hands go and pushes it down between their crotches as he lifts himself out the way.

“Be a good boy and finish yourself off,” he says as he unbuttons the top of Yoosung’s pants.

“No,” he squeaks, trying to yank his hand away while simultaneously trying to stop Saeran undoing the buttons, but it’s useless. “I d-don’t want to.”

“Oh, you want me to do the honours?” Saeran’s smile is twisted and his eyes are unfocused. “If you say so…” he says with obviously false reluctance as he yanks his pants down.

“No!” Yoosung yells, trying to cover himself. “P-please, I d-don’t want you to.”

Yoosung has never even kissed anyone before, let alone done anything like this. He hates that his body is betraying his mind, and everything he knows he _should_ be feeling is getting fuzzier and fuzzier.

“Not a natural blonde, I see,” Saeran comments in an offhand manner, and Yoosung sobs in response. “Is this the first time anyone else has seen your dick?” He puts a hand over his heart and fakes a bashful expression. “I’m so honoured.”

Before Yoosung has the chance to respond, Saeran grabs the hand Yoosung’s using to try and cover himself and wraps it around the base of Yoosung’s cock, guiding it up and down softly so he can take over on his own.

“Cum like a good boy.”

Yoosung whimpers at the words and feels his dick twitch. The praise shoots right through to his core and his head starts spinning even faster.

“No… I d-don’t… I don’t want to…” he protests weakly, but his hand tightens against his will. His entire body is aching and his brain is screaming but all he can focus on is _this_. “P-please don’t make me.”

“Looks like I don’t have to.” Saeran sits beside Yoosung now. He leans onto his shoulder and kisses up his neck, cheeks and nips at his earlobe. “Don’t get any on the suit,” he warns with a growl.

Yoosung’s hand is pumping up and down, as though of its own accord, and he whimpers and shakes as he feels his body respond to Saeran’s kisses. He has tears running down his cheeks but his brain is clouded with pleasure and he knows he’s seconds away from release.

“D-don’t watch,” he chokes out in a whisper, even though he knows it’s pointless. His dignity has been smashed to pieces and crushed into the ground.

“You’re a good boy, Yoosung. A very, very good boy.” Saeran bites down on Yoosung’s neck and wraps his hand around Yoosung’s as it pumps up and down his dick, his touch burning into Yoosung.

The loud noise that escapes Yoosung as pleasure suddenly bursts through him is somewhere between a moan and a sob. The feeling of Saeran’s hand on his makes him feel humiliated, but it also makes the pleasure even more intense in a way that disgusts him. Saeran’s teeth biting into his neck send a sharp pain through him which makes him cry out and cum hard into his hand. His toes curl and hips buck up as he whimpers and gets lost in the feeling for a few blissful seconds.

Yoosung sits there for a few moments, the silence only interrupted by his ragged breathing. He opens his eyes to see Saeran throwing toilet paper onto Yoosung’s limp dick and walking out the room.

“Told you.” His voice is sing song and echoes down the hallway. The words hang in the air for a while before Yoosung fully processes them.

What did he do?

His hand flies to his mouth and he looks down at his other hand covered in his own shame. He feels his body shake with a sob.

He takes the toilet paper and shakily cleans himself up, trying desperately not to get anything on the suit. He doesn’t want to know what Saeran will do if he does. He feels filthy and disgusting and confused. Why did he do that? Why did he do that? Why did he do that? Why did he _enjoy_ that?

His brain is confused and fuzzy and starting to feel disconnected again. He pulls up his pants but his hands are shaking too much to do them up, and he sinks down even further, curling up in a ball on the floor. His arm aches. His head is pounding. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been that close to someone before. No one’s ever seen him when he’s…

But now Saeran has. Saeran’s taking everything from him. Any hope Yoosung had for independence is quickly being destroyed. Soon he’ll have nothing left.

Maybe Saeran really does own him.

He shudders and shakes as he drifts in and out of consciousness on the bathroom floor. He doesn’t know what to think of himself anymore. Maybe he really is the monster Saeran seems to think everyone in the world is.

Maybe he really does deserve all this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm genuinely scared about posting this chapter but I've been sitting on it for way too long. It's awful, I'm sorry.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with us, friends! We appreciate that you trust us enough to tell this story to it's natural end. It's quite the roller coaster and we're just beginning.

Why had he done it? Two reasons. One: sometime during their heart to heart and his inability to work on the code yesterday, Luciel got through his firewalls and stole some documents. It wasn’t anything absolutely damning; in fact, it was a photo he intended on sending to the RFA chatroom once Unknown felt more secure in his security. The photograph was the picture of Yoosung he took during his first day here, crying as he looked up into the camera, shame pooling in his eyes with his tears. 

The second reason was that Yoosung had the audacity to acknowledge his broken self, to make him feel hopeful in a way that left acid burning a hole in his stomach. Whatever or whomever Saeran thought he was, it wasn’t anything more than this. Unknown did this so that they would both know it, and stating anything contrary to the  idea would be met with a swift scoff instead of a pause in contemplation. 

Lifted by the unnatural high of the drug, of Magenta, of the waning promise of Paradise, Saeran hurt Yoosung. He had to. It was his Mission to bring him in so he wouldn’t ask questions, couldn’t contemplate asking questions. Yoosung’s too damn inquisitive. 

His Saviour had warned him about Yoosung’s nature, and it eked through enough that part of Saeran believed there was truth in his words. Now, there’s absolutely no way anyone would think he’s better than this, that he deserved more than this shit life he’s been living. Not even kind hearted Yoosung. Unknown understood he had to break Yoosung. He's taken something extremely special from him - something no one else has seen, not even that precious MC bitch he's claiming to love so much.

Saeran hadn’t even intended to inject himself; there was a finite number of leftover injections, after all, and they were necessary for changing Yoosung’s mindset enough for him to achieve Magenta. However, as he pulled it out of the medical kit,  already prepped from a few days ago, he lost his willpower. Coming so close to the drug that would eliminate his fears, dissolve his pain into nonexistence… he could practically hear his willpower snap. He had originally prepared the injection with the intention of gifting Yoosung again, but he stuttered at the last minute, his hands unsteady from adrenaline and the beginnings of withdrawal. He injected himself in front of Yoosung, watching the horror overtake his captive’s expression as he haphazardly dug the needle into his skin. Anything, anything just to feel relief. Yoosung was much more pliant a minute later when Unknown prepped the second injection.

Magenta gave him the courage to harm Yoosung in a psychological way. Physical damage was surface; bruises or cuts didn’t compare, and it’s not like Saeran could damage bones or carve Yoosung’s skin without risking giving him an infection. Without the help of the Mint Eye doctors and access to medicine, he’s severely limited, so he aimed for breaking his mind. 

Unknown needed to burn his touch into Yoosung, so he kept his lips on his neck as he came, kept praising him for doing a good job fucking his own fist to completion while Unknown watched. When he heard Yoosung’s breath hitch, watched him bite his lip to suppress moans, Unknown made sure to cover his hand over Yoosung’s, just to sear the feeling of his touch into his innocent captive, like a brand, sizzling as it made contact. He made sure never to touch Yoosung himself. That small idea that Yoosung was not truly violated makes it worse for his victim, that he was never touched and was just encouraged to touch himself; which Yoosung did, like a good boy. 

Unknown wets his lips, readjusting the ache in his pants as he sits on the floor. It’s no time to think about bodily pleasures. 

He curses himself for forgetting the camera in this moment. What a prime opportunity to save another photo on his hard drive for Luciel to find...

Perhaps next time. For now, he needs to get back to work.

Yoosung’s soft crying is audible even from his spot back in the living room, shame and vulnerability a regular tune to this symphony.  

It’s much clearer this time around with the drugs to help him focus; he sees Yoosung crawl down the hallway and back into the bedroom, leash trailing behind him. He favours one arm, Unknown notes, as he watches Yoosung crawl with an echo of a limp. He doesn’t notice an audience as he crawls, face staring at the off-white carpet dirtied from wear and age. 

“Maybe I should tell the RFA what a faggot you are,” Unknown calls out. He watches Yoosung flinch, but that’s the extent of the response he receives as the boy slinks into the bedroom, head down. 

***

Yoosung hasn’t come out of the room since Saeran saw him crawl in there hours ago. Unknown should be more concerned that he’s trying to hurt himself, yet somehow he isn’t. He has this strange intuition that tells him that Yoosung wouldn’t have the balls to hurt himself anyway, not truly. 

Despite feeling famished, the drugs haven’t waned at all. Saeran suspects that neglecting to eat is only exacerbating the symptoms. He’s suspected it for a while, too; probably half the reason why he’s so thin. If the drugs are finite, he needs to ride this out. 

When Unknown finally relents, finally decides that it’s time to take a break and consider eating, it's sundown. He's famished, his stomach growling like an angered animal. It’s almost as feral as he considers himself to be. 

He reluctantly concedes to eat, prying a can of beans open with his switchblade. He struggles with it for longer than he would while sober, his grip feeling frustratingly loose, like his fingers won’t retract. Then he dumps the contents in two bowls.

No pitiful cuddling session with his pet tonight. Thank God, if another night like that happened, he isn’t sure if he’d have the strength to hurt Yoosung as the Saviour demands.

He’s going to offer Yoosung a bowl of beans. It’s unappetizing, clumpy, and has a little too much liquid when it’s bubbling hot. Everything else aside, Unknown has a duty to keep Yoosung physically healthy. There’s that promise he made, to take care of Yoosung. Compelled by duty and something else - something dangerous at the back of his mind currently stifled by drugs - he finds he truly wants to take care of his pet. 

Unknown finds Yoosung curled up on the bed. 

"Hey," Unknown calls out. "Are you hungry?" He walks over and drops one of the two steaming bowl of beans in front of him.

Yoosung blinks up at him and then down at the bowl. He wrinkles his nose, sniffing the air and making no facial expression in response, as if he can’t smell the artificial smoked flavour these beans have been soaking in.

After a long pause, as if Yoosung isn’t aware of how slowly he’s responding, he finally speaks: "No,” but the rumble of his stomach betrays him.

Unknown raises an eyebrow and shrugs his shoulders in response. He’s forced enough on Yoosung today, so maybe he should give him some form of autonomy.  It’s not like one night without eating will starve him. Yoosung would have to be resilient enough to last weeks.

Unknown deposits both bowls on the bed and fetches a glass of water. 

"Drink it," he commands, "Don't fucking eat, I don't care, but you still need to drink water." Being dehydrated would kill him faster than starving. That’d be inconvenient. 

Yoosung looks up at him, eyes vacant and the colour of dark purple, akin to the colour of a wilted iris. It almost appears like he's looking at Unknown from outside his own body. Yet he complies anyway and reaches for the glass. 

"How do you feel?" Judging by the look on his face, Unknown probably doesn't need to ask, but he does anyway.

Yoosung pauses and considers the question for longer than he usually would. Even though he spends so long thinking about it, his answer isn't very helpful. 

"I don't know."

He takes a sip of the water and pauses before he swallows, as if he can’t even remember it’s a necessary step, and some of it dribbles out of his mouth.

"That means it's working." Unknown grins and plops his weight down on the bed beside Yoosung. He pulls a bowl of beans onto his lap. "So, you ready to admit it yet?"

Another vacant stare, then a slight furrow of dark coloured eyebrows, a different colour than that blonde hair.

"Admit what?" he asks.

"That you're gay,” Unknown asks through a mouthful of beans. He’s pleased that even though it’s almost nighttime, his weak self has yet to make an appearance.

Yoosung watches him eat, an unreadable expression on his face. 

"I'm not," he says quietly, voice completely monotone.

"Sure." Unknown doesn’t care either way. It’s not like sexuality ever mattered to him. He never had the freedom to identify his own, even though he’s fairly sure of it. He cares because he knows that Yoosung wouldn’t bother hiding his kinks with an incognito tab on his browser if he wasn’t ashamed of it. Unknown aims to prey on his weakness. 

Yoosung’s face is stoic, but the water glass still in his hand. He’s taken one sip of water and is now just watching the water in his cup, like it’s telling him a secret.

"I'm not gay," Yoosung insists meekly, "but I did like it."

That can of beans was so small. Yoosung isn’t touching his food anyway. After cleaning the edges of his bowl, the monster hunger awakened in Unknown’s stomach demands more, so he reaches out for Yoosung’s bowl. Can’t let it go to waste.

"How are you not if you like gay porn and being with men?" 

Yoosung bites his lip and frowns, looking like he’s actually considering that statement and weighing the answers in his mind. 

"I don't know." He lifts the glass up to his lips but doesn't take a drink. "I don't know," he says again, whispering into the glass, a small echo to his voice. 

"Care for another demonstration?" Unknown purrs, leaning in to nudge Yoosung’s shoulder. This is preferable to the whining and crying by far. 

This time a response comes faster.

"No, I'm just..." He trails off, still whispering into the glass. "I'm not... gay. I like women. I love MC." He turns to make eye contact. Now, Unknown can see the perplexed expression painted his face.  "How can I be gay if I love her?"

Unknown is perturbed by the earnesty in Yoosung’s expression and voice. Is this his reaction to the drugs? Yoosung’s acting numb, and slowed, and… truthful, in a way that’s detached from emotion. The drugs make Unknown feel fuzzy enough that most emotions can’t grapple onto his consciousness enough to cause anxiety; anger is the strongest one, and it only makes him feel powerful, unsurpassable.

Saeran turns back to his beans, now congealed and sludgy as they cool. 

"Love isn't exactly my territory.”

"Huh." Yoosung turns back to the glass. "I guess it's not mine either." 

"Oh? Why's that?"

Yoosung swirls the water in the cup. 

"I don't have any experience with romantic love before MC," he says, "and I've never even met her."

"Hmm. And now she's dead," Unknown sings. "Guess I'm all you've got."

The swishing stops abruptly, the water hitting the side of the glass with a sudden jerk and crawling up the sides, spilling out slightly.

"She's not dead."

God, this kid won’t fucking give up. Saeran’s seen no trace that she’s alive; however, he’s also seen no grief at her sudden disappearance. He chooses not to voice that, though. 

"Sure. What else did you search after asking her out? Right after the gay porn?" Unknown brings his hand to his face and taps his cheek, like he's deep in thought, but it's a performance and they both know it, "Oh, right, 'how to tell if a girl likes you.' Pathetic."

Yoosung closes his eyes.

"She loves me," he says, conviction waning. 

"Does she? From where I was standing, it looks like she couldn't wait to get rid of you." Unknown stands and walks out of the room with the two dirty bowls. He returns a second later and flops onto the bed beside Yoosung.

Yoosung lowers the glass so it's on his lap. He’s barely taken two sips, and it’s still almost full. Then, the water starts to ripple. It’s barely noticeable, but Unknown’s hyper aware of Yoosung right now. All his mannerisms betray how broken he must be feeling inside; Unknown is soaking it in like dry soil after rain.

"She does love me. I protected her. She's looking for me, and so are the rest of the RFA."

"Has she ever told you she loved you?"

The rippling begins to speed up, creating small waves in the glass. Yoosung’s confidence is starting to falter. Unknown drinks in the feeling of weakness as he licks his lips, the taste of smoke strong on his tongue. Unknown raises his arms above his head and stretches deeply, a sigh escaping his lips, and a grin stretching across his face.

"S-she didn't need to," he whispers. "I felt it. I felt that she loved me."

"Where did you feel it?" Unknown points to his heart and then between his legs. The grin falls, as if it was never there to begin with. "She called you a loser, Yoosung."

"She... she loves me," he says weakly. "I know she does."

This is obviously going to take time. However, Unknown trudges on. 

"Jesus, she was using you, Yoosung. You were the only one naive enough to fall for her tricks. No one likes a guy who plays video games all day and flunks his classes." 

Yoosung clutches the glass tighter. 

"People like me," he states. There’s less fight in this statement than his last. This isn’t something he cares to fight for. The tone of Yoosung’s voice tells Unknown that it’s a fact. Nothing more. "I'm... I'm not naive." Oh. This statement lacks that same conviction. 

So, Yoosung knows that people like him, but he doesn’t have any confidence. Unknown knew this from the RFA chats, but… he never imagined Yoosung was this transparent in person. 

"You have no proof that she loved you, and she never even met you. She hasn't seen the disgusting sides of you... the ones I've seen."

There’s a shift in the air. It’s miniscule, a sharp intake of breath and a grimace blossoming on Yoosung’s face. 

"I'm disgusting," he whispers breathlessly, realization dawning on him. "I'm disgusting," he repeats and a tear rolls down his cheek.

Unknown rolls his eyes.

"Everyone's disgusting."

Yoosung’s lower lip is trembling now, despite his valiant efforts to not show his pain and he shakes his head, still not opening his eyes.

"No, you don't understand," he says. " _ I'm  _ disgusting."

Unknown isn't sure he understands the point.

"We're all disgusting, Yoosung. That's why Paradise exists. There, we can be our true selves."

Yoosung shakes his head again and his grip on the glass slips for a moment, but he manages to catch it.

"No. I don't deserve any kind of paradise."

Finally, he reopens his eyes, and the tears spring free, no longer blockaded by his eyelids. They’re streaming down his face, pancake tears dripping off his chin. 

"I liked it. I liked the pain and the humiliation. I liked when you called me a g-good boy and I l-liked... I l-liked..." 

His voice cracks and the glass slips to the floor. It doesn't smash, it just rolls away as the water splashes onto the carpet. Yoosung doesn’t look like he even noticed the glass fall, or that he splashed Unknown slightly. No, he hadn’t noticed, or else he’d be apologizing profusely to avoid more punishment. 

He leans forwards, clutching his hair in his hands, full blown tremors wracking his body. 

"I d-don't deserve Paradise. You sh-should just kill me."


	7. Chapter 7

Yoosung wants to go home. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to forget all this ever happened. He wants to forget that this man was the first person to ever touch him or see him like that. But most of all, Yoosung wants to forget that he liked it. _He liked it_. He liked the pain when Saeran bit him. He liked being told what to do. He liked the praise. He liked the feeling of helplessness that consumed him in that moment.

He’s just as disgusting as him, if not more.

Yoosung feels like he might be dying, but the thought scares him less than he’d expected it would.

When he had looked at Saeran a few moments ago, it had almost felt like he was looking at him from outside his own body. He barely felt anything at all, like he’d gone completely numb. The words spilled out of him as though he had no control over them, but he also found he really didn’t care.

But then, when Saeran had started questioning him about things, he’d felt confusion starting to poke through that numbness. His brain slowly started to scrape itself off his skull and function again. He could feel his emotions starting up, almost like a really slow computer turning back on after a power cut.

And now his body is shaking so hard that it’s exhausting after just a few seconds.

He means what he said. He doesn’t deserve paradise. Saeran should just kill him.

Saeran doesn’t respond as quickly as he probably would have expected, but right now Yoosung’s too preoccupied with all the emotions suddenly crashing over him to think about it. He can’t control them and he can’t stop them. All he can do is think about how disgusting he is, and how it would be better if he just died.

He feels a hand on his shoulder after a few moments.

“You shouldn’t joke like that,” Saeran says in a calm voice. “I might think you’re serious.”

Yoosung feels like he could scream. He pulls harder at his hair to try and stop all these thoughts from shooting through him.

“It’s not a j-joke,” he stammers, his voice loud in an attempt to overpower all the noise in his brain.

“Why? Because you enjoyed the first time doing anything with someone?” Yoosung feels Saeran slide his fingers into his hair to try and gently pry his hands away. Why does he care? Why is he consoling him? Yoosung doesn’t deserve it. “I enjoyed it too. It’s not bad. It’s just a body.”

No. No, he doesn’t understand. There’s more to it than that. Yoosung clutches his hair even more tightly.

“It _is_ bad. It’s… I sh-shouldn’t have liked it. You hurt me. You always hurt me.” Yoosung knows his voice is getting hysterical, but he doesn’t care. “You kidnapped me and took me away from everything I ever cared about and then I liked it when you did _that_.” He pauses for a moment to sob. “I l-love MC, but now she’ll never love me b-because I’m so disgusting. I’ve never even k-kissed anyone before, but y-you… you did that.” His rambling is cut off by another loud sob.

Again, Saeran doesn’t respond for a while. Maybe he’ll leave. Yoosung deserves to cry alone and be tormented by all his screaming thoughts.

“She doesn’t have to know,” he asserts.” No one has to know. And once we get to paradise, it’ll all be forgotten.”

For some reason those words make Yoosung cry even harder.

“But _I_ know. And _you_ know. And… I c-can’t live with that.” Yoosung tries to calm the shaking and put some authority into his voice, but it doesn’t work. “If you’re p-planning on killing me, y-you should do it n-now.”

“You had to have always known deep down what you liked,” Saeran says, scooting closer until he’s right behind Yoosung and his legs are on either side of him. He wraps his arms around his shoulders from behind and brings him in for a hug. “I’ll forget it anyway. It’s not like you’re the only person I’ve done that with.”

Yoosung loosens his grip on his hair and leans back into Saeran a little. Here he is again, finding comfort in something that should disgust him. The words hurt him. It feels as though they stab right through his chest, and he doesn’t know why.

“I won’t,” he whispers. “Y-you’re the only person I’ve d-done that with.” He chokes back a sob. “You’ll always be the f-first person to ever see me like th-that.”

“Do you want to hear about my first time? The first person to see me?” There’s a tone of desperation to his voice now, and he takes hold of Yoosung’s hands again and tugs to try and get him to stop ripping out his hair. Yoosung finally releases his grip and lets his hands drop to his sides.

“Yes,” he whispers. The tears are still rolling down his cheeks and his body is still shuddering, but he tries to focus on the feeling of Saeran’s breathing behind him.

As always, comfort in something that should disgust him.

Saeran doesn’t respond straight away, and Yoosung wonders if he even heard him. Or maybe he’s reconsidering his offer. Maybe he regrets asking Yoosung if he wants to know.

“It was a woman in paradise,” he says slowly. “She requested it and the saviour granted it to her for being devoted. I didn’t have a choice.” He pauses. “It wasn’t exactly public, but it was in the church. People watched.” Saeran reaches his arms round Yoosung and grabs both his hands in his. “It felt violating but I deserved it anyway, so I learned to think of it as a body. And when people requested it, I just gave it to them. Then, eventually, it became a tool. I’m… I’m…” Whatever Saeran was planning on finishing that sentence with dies on his tongue, but Yoosung thinks he might be able to guess. Yoosung swallows and his shakes lessen slightly, but it’s more from shock than anything else.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, finishing Saeran’s sentence for him. “I-I’m so sorry everything in y-your life got t-taken away from you.”

He can’t even begin to imagine what Saeran’s life has been like. Yoosung’s only been living this for a few days, but Saeran… god. The thought makes his head fall forwards from the weight of it all.

“You shouldn’t be sorry for me. I’m the one who’s disgusting. You’re just… a normal person, Yoosung.” Yoosung shakes his head.

“But I’m not. I c-can’t say that now. N-not anymore, right?” He laughs humourlessly. “I th-thought I was. But… but not I know that’s not true.” He lifts his head a little but it’s still so heavy. “I was always disgusting. Y-you’re just the one who showed me.”

“It’s late. Come lay down.” Saeran pulls at Yoosung’s hands to try and tug him back onto the bed. It’s not forceful. It’s more of a suggestion, but Yoosung does as he says anyway. He shuffles back and lays down, facing away from Saeran. He’s not sure he can look at him right now and see the eyes of the only person in the world who knows his shame.

Or maybe if his computer history is that easy to hack, Seven knows too. That just makes him feel worse. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t found him yet. He’s not trying. He knows someone as disgusting as Yoosung would be enjoying this.

Saeran shuffles closer to Yoosung and wraps his arms around his waist, being the bigger spoon in this one sided cuddle.

“You know what made my first experience worse?” Saeran whispers. He’s offering more information about himself. Why? Is it to make Yoosung feel better? Yoosung closes his eyes and tries to stop the tears. He’s not shaking so much anymore. Maybe his body is already too exhausted, or maybe he’s finally accepting the fact he’s not worth anything.

“What?” he asks quietly.

There’s a pause and Saeran slides his hands under Yoosung’s shirt and starts slowly rubbing his tummy with his hands, as though comforting himself. He’s treating Yoosung like a teddy bear.

Yoosung’s lost count of the times he’s found comfort in something that should be disgusting to him.

“I’m gay,” he breathes raggedly. “My first time was with a woman and I’m gay.”

Yoosung slowly opens his eyes. He’s still crying anyway, so there’s no point keeping them shut.

So every time Saeran had called him a f… a fa… that, he had been gay himself?

Yoosung feels his breath catch in his throat. He’s comforted by Saeran’s hands touching his skin like this, but the horror of everything Saeran’s telling him isn’t something that can be solved with a cuddle.

“That’s… that’s horrible,” Yoosung whispers. He doesn’t know what to say. He can barely wrap his head around this entire situation.

“Nothing good has ever happened to me. Haven’t I already told you that?”

“But… surely something good must have happened to you? There must be one thing.”

Saeran doesn’t respond for a few moments.

“Maybe once,” he finally says. “When my brother snuck us out and we got ice cream, and I got to see the clouds for the first time.” Yoosung decides to cling onto this. He has to believe there’s hope.

“Do you like the clouds?”

“Yeah.” Yoosung feels Saeran rest his face in the dip of his shoulder, not far off from where he bit earlier. Yoosung tenses a little but he quickly relaxes when he realises that this time he doesn’t seem to have any intention of biting. “They’re never the same.”

“Yeah, I like the clouds too,” he says quietly. “But… I think I like the stars better.”

“Stars are always the same. Clouds are always different. They never stop changing. I want to believe I can change too,” Saeran whispers. “Do you want to go look at the stars?”

Yoosung inhales and hold his breath for a moment. Is Saeran suggesting what he thinks he’s suggesting?

“Now?” he asks, barely daring to believe it.

“We’re in a forest. They’ll probably look nice from out here.” Saeran pulls away and stands up. “I’ll help you walk.” Yoosung sits up and blinks at him.

“Th-thank you,” he whispers. Saeran walks around to Yoosung’s side of the bed and reaches out a hand to him.

Yoosung looks at Saeran’s hand for a moment before slowly reaching up and taking it. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, but doesn’t pull himself up just yet.

“I… I can crawl if that’s easier,” he suggests quietly. Saeran wraps his fingers around Yoosung’s.

“Wouldn’t you rather walk? Do you think it’ll hurt more if you try to walk?”

Yoosung looks down at his feet for a moment and presses them against the floor. It hurts, but it’s duller than before. Maybe he can do this. He gets to his feet and wobbles, clutching Saeran’s hand more tightly and putting as much of his weight on it as he can.

“I think I’ll be okay. I can’t just crawl forever.”

Saeran lets go of Yoosung’s hand to hold him by the shoulders. He lifts his free hand to take the one he let go of, and he helps him take a few tentative steps forwards. Yoosung winces a little at the pain, but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

“Promise you won’t run when we get outside?” Yoosung lets out a laugh that surprises himself.

“I don’t think I could outrun you even if I wanted to, do you?”

“I guess,” Saeran replies, sounding oddly shy.

Yoosung’s feet are aching and his legs shake as he walks, but with Saeran’s help they manage to make it to the door. He pauses for a second when they reach it, and he realises he never really answered Saeran’s question.

“I promise I won’t run.”

Saeran’s hand is on the doorknob, and he looks back with a surprised expression on his face. It softens after a few seconds.

“I trust you.”

Yoosung blinks at him in surprise. Saeran trusts him? That’s… new. The words make Yoosung feels warm inside, and he finds himself giving him a small smile. Is this the first time he’s smiled since he’s been here? He thinks it might be.

Saeran pulls the door open and the chilly night air spills inside. Outside it’s dark, save for the silver light from the moon. Yoosung takes in a deep breath when the air hits his face. The night is cold and stings some of his wounds, but he finds it’s refreshing rather than just painful.

Saeran takes the lead, walking them past the parked car and a little way through the forest. It doesn’t take long before they step into an opening between the trees. A clearing. It’s fairly small, but the trees feel more like a shelter than a prison, and because it’s outside there are no clear boundaries. They’re packed close together around the edge, and it almost looks as though they made a circle around the grass on purpose. Somewhere contained but still open. Somewhere to escape to.

They reach the middle of the clearing and Saeran helps lower Yoosung down before sitting beside him. Saeran looks up at the sky, and Yoosung follows suit, feeling a tear roll down his cheek. The night sky is framed between the treetops and the stars are clearly visible. He feels free, even though he knows that’s just a temporary illusion.

“I used to spend a lot of time here before we moved to the castle,” Saeran says quietly.

“What is this place?” Yoosung whispers.

“Used to be my home after I left my mother’s.” There’s a moment of silence and then Yoosung feels Saeran’s fingers gently wiping a tear from his cheek. Yoosung doesn’t visibly respond to Saeran’s touch, but he feels something loosen inside him. Like a knot of tension that suddenly seems irrelevant now that they’re out here. “I used to come here when I was sad.”

“Wait… why did you leave your mother’s?” Yoosung feels like he has a vague idea from what Saeran’s mentioned about his brother bringing him food and being locked inside, but he wants to know more. He wants to know exactly what led to Saeran being the way he is now.

That way maybe he’ll be able to help.

“She didn’t want us. I wouldn’t eat for days because she wouldn’t feed me and she’d tie me up in the kitchen so she could watch me.” His voice is so calm as he speaks about this, but Yoosung looks at Saeran, the horror of it filling his mind. Tied up by his own mother? So this is where it all started.

“You said your brother brought you food sometimes?” He wants to know more about his brother. He feels like he causes a lot of confused pain for Saeran, but he doesn’t know how to go about asking about it. Saeran flinches as soon as he asks the question, jerking his hand away from Yoosung’s face as though he’s been burnt. He looks up at the sky.

“Yeah. He went to church and made friends, I guess. They gave him food and he’d bring half home to me.”

This all feels so impossible. It’s like the kind of thing you see in movies, not real life.

“He cared for you,” Yoosung whispers.

“Did he? He abandoned me,” Saeran says blankly. “My saviour is never wrong.”

Yoosung pauses and looks up at the sky.

“I don’t know the whole story, but it sounds to me like he cared for you. Maybe… maybe he had no choice? Maybe he got… kidnapped?” Yoosung’s shooting blindly, hoping to hit some kind of conclusion that isn’t completely wrong.

“He didn’t. He made the choice.” Yoosung watches as Saeran clenches his fists in his lap so hard he starts shaking. “He doesn’t love me.”

Yoosung gulps and reaches over, placing his hand on one of Saeran’s.

“I d-don’t think that’s true,” he says carefully. “Was he older than you?” Maybe if he’s older that just means it was his time to leave the house and Saeran was too young to understand that didn’t necessarily mean total abandonment.

“We’re twins,” he says, staring at Yoosung’s hand on top of his fist. Yoosung feels his eyes widen. Twins? He hadn’t expected that. “Why are you doing this? Why do you care?” Yoosung looks down at their hands and then back up at Saeran.

“I just want to help,” he says in a small voice.

“You shouldn’t. Can’t you see I’m trying to ruin you?” Saeran whispers, staring up intensely at the sky. He sounds confused. Like he doesn’t understand why Yoosung would care.

Of course Yoosung knows that, but it’s not possible. Saeran can’t ruin him. Yoosung doesn’t take his hand away or take his eyes off Saeran.

“I’m already ruined,” he says simply.

“Because of me,” Saeran chokes out, making a point not to move his eyes from the sky. Saeran apologising isn’t something Yoosung was expecting or particularly aiming for, but the words and the way he says them shoot straight through him.

“It wasn’t just you,” he says, tearing his eyes away to look up at the sky. “I think I was already ruined before we even came here.”

“Why do you think that?” I’ve seen your chats and your daily life. You weren’t ruined then.” Saeran swallows. “I ruined you.” Yoosung lets out a shaky sigh.

“I… I tried to pretend,” he says. “I was always top of my class in high school. I got into SKY University on a scholarship, and that’s not exactly easy. But… but then…” He swallows and closes his eyes. “Then my cousin died. She… she killed herself. At least, that’s what they told me. I didn’t even know she was depressed.” His head drops down and he pulls his hand from Saeran to bury his face in his hands. “I’ve been broken since then. My life went to shit. I l-lost all my motivation to do anything other than game. All because I c-couldn’t save her.”

Yoosung’s sobs aren’t loud and wrenching this time. They’re small, pathetic and weak. Just like him. Saeran doesn’t even try and stop or comfort him.

“W-why did she leave me?” he chokes out. “I c-could have… I could have helped if sh-she’d told me.” His hands slide up into his hair and he tugs at it to try and ground himself. What would Rika say if she could see him now?

She probably wouldn’t even want to know him.

“You didn’t ruin me, Saeran. You j-just made me realise I was already broken.”


	8. Chapter 8

What’s the best way to ensure Yoosung stops trying to pull his hair out? Saeran considers how he used to ensure his previous Missions didn’t hurt themselves… well, usually he’d tie them up somehow. Yoosung’s still wearing the collar. It would be so easy for Saeran to just… reach out and pull it, restrain his pet by forcing his face to the ground and tell him what a bad boy he’s being. His flexes his fingers, sitting harmlessly in his own lap, and considers pulling Yoosung close enough that his pet has no choice but to come.

He’s already made Yoosung come enough for today. Saeran settles for reaching over, his hands covering the back of Yoosung’s. Instead of encouraging the negative behaviour, the hair pulling that was clearly a sign of desperation, Saeran tugs Yoosung’s grip away from his scalp, accidentally pulling a few strands of blonde hair with it. 

"Can't have you destroying those pretty locks," he coos softly. When did his voice get so soft? When did Saeran decide to speak like this? When did his strength ebb away…? When Yoosung said he wanted to die? 

The idea didn’t sadden him, per se, but it did ruin his plans, his chances at the Saviour’s forgiveness. Saeran has to deliver Yoosung to undo the damage from Luciel discovering the castle.

"Come here, I'll take care of you." Another one of Saeran’s empty promises. Maybe Yoosung’s feeling destroyed enough to believe it.

Or not. Yoosung returns to his self destructive behaviour. Saeran is forced to tug his hands away again, this time a little more forcefully. Instead of fighting, his pet appears to have given up after taking a small clump of hair with him. It’s such a familiar behaviour; it’s something he’s employed more than once to keep himself grounded during an anxiety attack. Other people do this, too? Saeran had no idea. 

"Wh-why does it m-matter how I look? It’s my fault this happened," Yoosung blubbers, stumbling over his words. 

"Is it, now? It’s not your assailant’s fault? I’m innocent?" Why the fuck isn’t Yoosung blaming his kidnapper? This doesn’t make any sense.

In order to ensure Yoosung doesn’t try something again, Saeran uses both his hands to pin Yoosung’s wrists to his side. It isn’t particularly restraining. The drugs still aren’t completely out of his system, and while it isn’t affecting his cognition anymore, his grip is still feeling frustratingly loose.

Yoosung shakes his head.

"N-no, it's different. You... you b-became like this because of other p-people treating you b-badly. I made ch-choices. I was n-never good."

"I make choices." Bad ones. All the time. Perhaps if morality meant something to Saeran, he’d understand that the choices he’s made his entire life equated to more than bad. As it stands,  he only understands himself as the opposite of goodness because of the Saviour’s teachings, because she saves and heals abandoned wrecks like him. 

 

That’s probably why Saeran always felt irked whenever he saw Yoosung in the RFA chatroom. Saeran considered himself completely eclipsed by goodness, as if it passed him by while he grew. Yoosung must have soaked in both their shares, radiating it from all his interactions. 

The Saviour warned him that getting too close to the sun would ruin his salvation, yet he finds himself drawn to it anyway. If Saeran couldn’t reclaim the light he lost, then he wants to own it.  

Saeran rubs his hands up and down Yoosung’s arms. Is this comforting? Is he helping? He has no idea, but it feels like there's something unraveling inside him, something dangerously possessive. 

Clearly Yoosung doesn’t notice the set of Saeran’s jaw and instead focuses on the comforting touch, the electrifying feeling of skin on skin. He leans forward and slender fingers tangle in the front of Saeran’s red shirt. His pet is still sobbing, but there are no accompanying tears. Saeran soaks in the moment, relishing the feeling of Yoosung willingly touching him, and the soft way his whimpers sound.

Something inside Saeran cracks. 

He tightens his grip on Yoosung, all but yanking the unsuspecting kid into his lap. Saeran doesn’t even wait for a response before he wraps his pet in an embrace that is half comfort, half ownership. 

"I'm r-responsible for enjoying th-the things done t-to me," Yoosung stammers. "Do you r-reallly think a good person would have l-liked being made to... made to... do  _ that _ ?"

Saeran tries to locate his voice, licking his dry lips. The wind whistles through the trees and pushes the clouds over the moon, leaving the entire clearing draped in a veil of darkness. It perfectly symbolizes the mood that overtakes Saeran as he toes the edge between fondness for Yoosung and the bubbling need to own him in every way possibly, mind and body. He doesn’t know which is scarier. 

"I'm not a good person, so... I don't know,” Saeran answers slowly.

He enjoyed hurting Yoosung. He enjoyed the way Yoosung fought back just enough to feel guilty later, but not enough to stop the act from happening. Did both of them realize that? The way Yoosung listened, like he wanted to listen to the orders his owner gave him… In all honesty, Saeran barely had to encourage him to masturbate. 

Did they both want it? 

...Was it wrong to think that? 

"I c-can't believe this is happening to me," Yoosung snivels. Saeran can feel the rapid rise and fall of Yoosung’s chest, like a bunny rabbit caught in a fox’s trap. 

"I'll take care of you." Saeran can't promise it'll get better. He can't promise to return Yoosung to a normal life, so he says the only thing he can possibly say. Perhaps if he lies enough, if he repeats the phrase like a prayer, it’ll become true. Just like how Saeran continues to lie to himself about his Saviour coming back for them.

"B-but tomorrow you'll hurt me again," Yoosung says. "Y-you'll give me whatever's in those injections and then y-you'll hurt me m-more."

They’ve already had this discussion. What more can Saeran say besides yes? It’s irrevocably true. Despite trying to leave Yoosung alone this morning, he still hurt his captive. Arguably, Unknown hurt him more because he had been stifling it, shoving it down with heavy gulps of air and ineffective breathing techniques.

"I'll... I'll try not to. I didn't hurt you this morning..." It’s a pathetic excuse, and they’re both aware of that. 

When Yoosung releases his grip on Saeran’s shirt, the fabric feels rumpled and moist. His shirt is ruined; Saeran’s also sure the suit Yoosung’s wearing is ruined. They’re sitting outside on the grass. It’s cold and probably damp. Saeran can’t tell. His entire back has gone numb from the chilled air and the grass is poking through the fabric in his pants, scratching at backs of his thighs like ghostly fingernails. 

"If... If I don't take the drugs, I might not hurt you." Saeran’s not mentally resilient enough to hurt someone without the influence, the sheer power provided by an unnatural high.

"What  _ are _ they?" Yoosung’s voice cracks, desperation pouring out unabashedly. It’s all he has now, it seems; to appeal to whatever humanity Saeran shows him each night. Has Yoosung figured out his duality, as well? Is he that transparent?  "What d-do they  _ do _ ? Why do I need th-them?"

"They help you reach Magenta.” 

“Wh-what does that mean? Is that... is that l-like Paradise?"

"Yes and no. It's a state of being. It makes me feel strong," he answers. This information isn’t a secret. In fact, it’s better he knows before he joins Paradise. It’ll make the transition that much more seamless. "It makes it possible for me to complete my mission."

"Your mission," Yoosung repeats. "You mean d-destroying the RFA?"

"Yes." Saeran diggins his nails into the meat of his shoulder. Yoosung shudders helplessly, breath coming out panicked, then calms when Saeran loosens his hold. How nice would it be to twist his fingers into Yoosung’s wounds, feeling the searing heat of fresh blood and hearing the squelch as he destroys muscle under his nail. 

Maybe next time. 

Saeran wishes he didn’t have intrusive thoughts like this. He wishes he didn’t immediately decide to hurt whomever was closest when he wasn’t feeling safe. 

Yoosung wiggles his way out of the slackened grip. As if on cue, a gust of wind ruffles their hair and carries the distant sounds of an owl hooting. The leaves rustle, shuffling against each other with a rattle, and the clouds finally edge away from the moon. It bathes Yoosung in moonlight, catching the blonde of his hair and the purple of his eyes, making him seem untouchable and angelic.  

"Why?" he asks.

"I was tasked with it by my Saviour.," Saeran responds, meeting Yoosung’s eyes and feeling utterly unworthy. Yoosungs eyes are bloodshot and puffy. They both know why.

"Why? Why does the Saviour hate the RFA? W-what did we ever d-do?" Yoosung begs, as if there’s a logical explanation for all this. 

"The Saviour loves the RFA, that's why she asked for them specifically."

"She loves..." Yoosung echoes, trailing off with confusion in his voice. "I don't understand."

Questions beg for answers, and Saeran’s willpower feels nonexistent with his prize in his arms, staring at him with big, innocent eyes. He wants to own this look. He doesn’t want anyone to ever see Yoosung so painfully trusting, aching for answers, and holding himself together by the seams. 

Then Saeran’s aware of the way his arms shake with exertion, how the drugs and lack of sleep have worn down the muscle until the mere thought of extra movement tires him out.

"I can’t explain it to you anymore. I'm tired, Yoosung."

"Okay… d-did you want to go back inside?"

For all his persistence, Yoosung relents the moment Saeran sounds distressed, once again transferring the power to Saeran. Why? He could have taken advantage of the situation, of Saeran’s weakened state, both mentally and physically. Saeran worked so hard to ensure Yoosung would want to leave at the first opportunity. So why is he letting Saeran hold him like this? 

Why has he let Saeran lean forward and rest his head in the crook of his neck? 

“Did you want to keep looking at the stars?" Saeran asks. That way, he doesn’t have to move, and he can stay close to Yoosung’s warmth, bask in the goodness that he missed growing up. Yoosung tries to regulate his breathing unsuccessfully; he’s still breathing hard. One small shift, one that Saeran feels but cannot see, and Yoosung’s tipped his head up so the curve of his jaw and the outline of his Adam’s apple is visible in the moonlight. It’s like he’s asking to be claimed. 

"Yeah. Just... just a bit longer," Yoosung whispers. Perhaps he understands that he could have whatever he wanted in this moment... and he chose to stay under the stars with Saeran. 

The thought sends frightening shivers down Saeran’s spine and he sits up straight. Instead of being startled, Yoosung just settles back into his lap, turning so he’s practically cradled by Saeran, head dipped into the curve of his neck as he watches the stars. At this moment, it seems as if his captive is no longer truly here. Saeran’s nothing more than a comfortable place to rest. 

Saeran watches Yoosung’s eyes as he watches the stars and he swears he can see the reflection of the constellations within them, speckled and purple from his eye colour. 

Minutes pass… or maybe seconds. The world feels frozen in stasis; the only real sign that it hasn’t is the rise and fall of their chests as they breathe. 

"Do you want to know why I like the stars?" Yoosung asks quietly, eyes locked on the sky.

"Yeah," Saeran whispers in response, nuzzling his face into Yoosung’s hair and breathing in his scent,  that smell he had chased a few nights ago still lingering. Saeran was beginning to believe it was just how Yoosung naturally smelled. Still captivated by the sky, Yoosung doesn’t react. He may be used to this now, being used by Saeran as his whims change sporadically. 

"I know you said you like the clouds because they change, and... and I like that, too. But the stars don't. Or, at least, they don't for a really long time." He pauses as his eyes travel across the sky. For a moment, Saeran wonders if that was the end of the explanation, then Yoosung begins speaking again.

"We're looking at almost the exact same night sky that people have been looking at since the beginning of humanity. I just... I just think there's something special about that." He pauses again to take in a deep breath. "It's something solid. Something... something that doesn't change, even when everything else goes badly." 

Saeran swears he catches a small smile spread across Yoosung’s face. It looks too genuine to be created by the drugs. 

"I guess there's also my name. It means shooting star, so... I probably just... feel connected in that way, too."

The way Yoosung’s describing the sky makes Saeran feel more at ease. He closes his eyes. If anything, at least he can understand why Yoosung likes it so much. It's like a guardian or a cosmic entity, and it’s seen everything humanity has to offer. 

"Yoosung is a nice name." It’s a shame he’ll have to abandon it when he joins Paradise. “Do you think… the stars have seen worse people than us?” 

"Maybe," Yoosung says, not taking his eyes off the sky. "When you say that here, I... I can almost feel like we… like there’s hope.”

This is another one of those times when Saeran has to fight off sleep. There’s a paradigm shift in him each night; one that the low doses of drugs are not able to pause. Saeran wishes gentleness came to him this easily during the day. 

Without warning Yoosung, Saeran starts to tilt back, enough that Yoosung can readjust and move. Saeran wants to curl up inside his warm jacket and feel the grass on his face. He assumes Yoosung is going to scramble off him and try to escape, so as he starts to lie down, he wraps the leash around his wrist. It likely wouldn’t stop Yoosung, but he has to try anyway, has to pretend he hasn’t completely given up. 

Yoosung just adjusts so that he’s lying on Saeran, face in his chest.

"Why are you on top of me?" There's no judgment in his voice, he's just curious.

"Can I...?"

"Yeah." Saeran lowers himself the rest of the way onto the ground gently, with Yoosung still on top of him. There's a moment of silence as they just... breathe.

"I can hear your heart," Yoosung whispers.

Saeran’s trying desperately to breath normally. He only succeeds at laboured huffs underneath the extra weight on top of him. It’s reminiscent of old memories. For a moment, Saeran’s concerned he may suffocate. He wiggles enough that Yoosung has no choice but to slip slightly off, pressing more of his weight onto the ground beside them than on Saeran’s rib cage. After a long delay, he finally speaks.

"It aches."

"Are you okay?" Yoosung has the audacity to sound concerned. It’s almost unbelievable at this point.

"Yeah... at least, I think I am." 

No one has ever laid on his chest like this. Yoosung isn't much shorter than him, but like this he feels small. Hesitantly, Saeran moves his stiff limbs from his sides and rests his hands on the small of Yoosung’s back. "You feel good."

"Good," Yoosung breathes. "So do you." Is Yoosung lying? Is this some game? How could this be real? 

Is it the magic of the atmosphere? Is it because this is Saeran’s safe space? Even when life was hard, his troubles never seemed to follow him into this clearing in the woods. If wizards existed, maybe the place had been blessed by one.

Saeran wonders about why Yoosung even wants to be near him, and why he's allowed him to touch him in so many ways, both sexual and not. How can he even stand to be breathing the same air, let alone pressed up against his chest? Maybe they really are both broken. 

Maybe they can seek solace in each other.

Before he falls asleep, Saeran says a silent prayer to a God that isn't his Saviour.

"Please, don't let me hurt him in the morning."

It’s useless. Saeran should know better than anyone gods are not benevolent. 

***

When Saeran wakes up, the first thing he notices is the awful, stiff pain in his lower back. The second thing he notices is that there's someone on top of him.

He's transported back to a time when his body wasn't his to command. After a large dose of drugs, he'd sometimes wake up in the middle of a sex act he was unknowingly involved in. The thought that this was happening right now made his stomach lining turn to acid and he tried to recoil until he noticed whomever was on top of him wasn't moving, and... they were both still clothed. Thank God. 

Then he remembers last night. He remembers taking Yoosung into his safe space and falling asleep.

Saeran starts gently nudging Yoosung and wiggling underneath him, hoping he can escape without confrontation. Thankfully, they’ve moved slightly in their sleep, and it doesn’t take long for Saeran to fight his rising panic and stiff muscles to scramble out, narrowly escaping suffocation. Any type of restriction turns his stomach and digs up memories of those nights in a prison cell at the castle. 

Is Yoosung still asleep? Saeran just accepts it without questioning because part of him wants to believe he's still asleep. He stands up and stretches his aching limbs.

The clouds outside look nice today; puffy and cotton-like, much like the day he went to get ice cream with Saeyoung. He doesn't have time to appreciate though. He needs to get back inside, needs to prepare another dose for Yoosung and work on his algorithm. 

Saeran looks down at Yoosung and stifles the urge to kick him in the stomach for daring to get so close to him. The thought is accompanied by a hollow type of sadness. Is this what guilt feels like? 

Instead, he leans down, twists the leash still tangled around his wrist, and unhooks it from Yoosung’s collar. 

The need to own Yoosung and the need to get very far away from Yoosung collide, and he struggles to understand which one he desires more.

He doesn't want to be near Yoosung, and... he wants Yoosung to have the chance to get away from him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love and comments, guys :3 always nice to see people enjoying the story.


	9. Chapter 9

When Yoosung wakes he feels cold, and it takes him a moment to register that he’s lying on someone.

Saeran.

His eyes fly open and he looks around to see that they’re outside. So that hadn’t all been a dream? He pushes himself up to look at Saeran’s peaceful, sleeping face, and he feels a sickening kind of anticipation settle in his stomach. What will happen when he wakes up? He doesn’t know which version of Saeran he’ll be.

He gently lays his head back on his chest and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to cling onto this for as long as he possibly can. The calm before the storm.

After a little while, Saeran starts stirring, and Yoosung keeps his eyes closed. He doesn’t know whether to let him know he’s awake too, and after a few moments it feels a lot like he’s trying to escape from him. Yoosung isn’t sure what to do. He doesn’t know who Saeran is today. He doesn’t know which course of action will result in him getting hurt. Maybe they all will.

He slowly moves as Saeran shifts underneath him, sliding down his chest to the ground. Pretending to be asleep feels like the best thing to do right now, and he rolls and shuffles slightly in a way he hopes is convincing until he’s finally off Saeran enough for him to move if he wants to.

Yoosung feels his breath catch as Saeran starts fiddling with his collar, but then… it stops. He waits until Saeran’s footsteps have entirely faded before opening his eyes and his hand instantly flies to his neck. The leash is gone. It’s  _ gone _ and Saeran has left him alone. It’s almost as if he’s giving him a chance to escape on purpose.

Yoosung sits up and rubs his eyes. Maybe Saeran knows he can’t really escape anyway. He doesn’t know where they are. He could end up walking for days and not meeting another person. In fact, he can’t even walk properly. He hasn’t eaten anything in well over 24 hours, and he hasn’t had much to drink either.

Also he promised Saeran he would stay. And even if he hadn’t, how can he possibly leave now that he knows what he does? Saeran is complicated, and Yoosung feels like maybe… just maybe he’ll be able to get through to him.

He looks behind him to see the way they came last night. He doesn’t particularly want to go back yet. Will Saeran get angry if he doesn’t? Honestly, now that he’s aware of his thirst it’s impossible to ignore. He needs to go back and get something to drink.

He could probably attempt to walk, but instead he decides to keep crawling in case his feet still hurt. He heads slowly towards the… house? Can it even really be called that? It’s so bare and empty it’s more of a shell of a house. He reaches the door and sees that it’s open, so he crawls inside and closes it quietly behind him. He goes to the kitchen and pulls himself up next to the sink, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.

Yoosung closes his eyes and drinks it as slowly as he can handle. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He doesn’t know where Saeran is or if he should go and see him. What if he hurts him again? This morning he just walked away, and for some reason it hurt more than he would have expected.

There’s a quiet thump from the wall the kitchen shares with the bedroom. Saeran must be in there. Maybe he should take a look.

He tries walking. It’s slow and painful and he has to lean against the walls heavily as he does, but it’s possible. He reaches the door and peers round it to see Saeran lying on the bed. That’s… odd. Usually he’d be in the other room with his laptop. Yoosung isn’t sure what to do. There’s a pillow on the floor by the wall, and Yoosung assumes he must have thrown it.

He opens his mouth and says the first thing that comes into his head.

“Do you want some food?”

“Why are you here? Why did you come back?” Saeran’s voice is sharp, and he balls his fists at his sides. “I let you go.” That part comes out as a whimper, and he brings his hands up to his face and shoves the heels into his eyes and rubs. Yoosung doesn’t dare get any closer. He doesn’t seem as angry as usual, but the chance of pushing him over the edge isn’t worth the risk.

“I… I said I w-wouldn’t leave,” he stammers. “I was just wondering if you were hungry. I could… I could get some food.”

There’s a pause, and Yoosung wonders if Saeran plans on responding at all.

“Fine. Whatever. Go make some food then.”

Yoosung swallows and doesn’t say anything as he walks back to the kitchen, supporting himself with the walls. Once he’s there he brings his hand up to the collar. He feels like his throat is probably bruised from it, and he wonders what would happen if he took it off. Maybe… maybe just while he’s cooking.

He reaches up to the collar and tugs at it before fumbling with the buckle at the front until he manages to undo it. He slowly slides it off, eyes flicking nervously to the direction of the bedroom. He places it on the counter. He needs to remember to put it back on so Saeran doesn’t see.

He hadn’t realised how much that had been restricting his breathing, but  _ wow.  _ Now he finally feels like he can actually breathe again. And he hadn’t noticed how much it had been pressing up against the bruises and wounds on his neck either. He rubs at the tender skin with his fingers for a moment and then gets to work, figuring out what he can cook for him and Saeran.

At some point he hears the water from the shower turn on, and he breathes out a soft sigh of relief. He has time.

He takes things slowly as he cooks, taking care to try and make it as good as he can. It’s the only thing that makes him feel somewhat normal anymore. While the rice is boiling he looks at his arm, which is something he hasn’t actually done properly yet. He feels his stomach twist. The place the needle entered is scabbed over from where it tore when he was struggling the first time, and where it’s been repeatedly reopened since then. The entire area is surrounded by a terrifying dark purple bruise. He didn’t realise it was so huge.

Yoosung wishes he had a mirror. Saeran hasn’t touched his face, but he’s certain his neck is mangled beyond recognition, what with the knife wounds, the biting, and the bruise that’s bound to be there from the collar.

Or… perhaps it’s good he doesn’t have a mirror.

He finishes making the food and the shower is still running. He glances at the bowls for a moment and then realises he probably wouldn’t be able to carry them both while his feet are like this. He wonders what he should do.

Saeran should be done soon, right? Yoosung sinks down to the floor and crosses his legs, taking his bowl and starting to eat. God, it tastes so good. He hadn’t realised just how hungry he was.

At some point he hears the water shut off, and he expects Saeran to come and find him.

But he doesn’t. Yoosung finishes his food and takes the bowl over to the sink to wash it up. He glances over at Saeran’s bowl sitting on the side. It’ll be cold soon. He walks slowly over to the hallway, but he doesn’t want to actually go in the bathroom.

“Saeran?” he tries to call out, but his voice comes out as an inaudible croak, so he clears his throat and tries again. “I made you some food.”

There’s no response. Not even an angry one, and that scares Yoosung even more. He cautiously walks closer.

“I… uh… are you okay?” he stammers when he gets near the doorframe. He can’t see him yet. He might not even still be in there. Again there’s no response. Yoosung swallows and pokes his head around the doorframe to the bathroom and sees Saeran standing there with a towel around his waist and… shit. He’s holding a needle over his arm, about to press it into his skin.

“Wait!” Yoosung yelps. “Don’t do that!”

Saeran freezes for a moment before looking at Yoosung, guilt etched across his features in a way so painful it makes Yoosung’s heart hurt.

“I’m nothing without it,” he croaks. Yoosung shakes his head and stumbles inside, bracing himself against the wall with his hand.

“You’re not. I promise you, you’re never nothing.”

“I’ve already prepped it.” Saeran hasn’t moved. It’s still inches above his skin. “It’d be a waste.”

Yoosung stays where he is. He’s scared to get closer in case Saeran changes his mind and decides to use it on him instead.

“It… it wouldn’t” he stammers. He can’t think of an excuse strong enough, and he’s desperately searching his mind to think of one. “I… I think you’re better without it.”

“Really?” Yoosung can’t tell what Saeran’s thinking right now.

“Yes,” he says desperately. There’s a pause.

“I can’t keep my promises, Yoosung,” he whispers. “You shouldn’t trust me.” And with that, he pushes the needle into his skin. Yoosung cries out in desperation, trying to resist launching forwards into the bathroom and grabbing it because he knows that would only hurt Saeran. Instead he slams his hand over his mouth and screws his eyes shut as tears start running down his face.

There are a few moments of silence. The air feels thick.

“Where’s your collar?” Saeran asks blankly. Yoosung opens his eyes, hand still pressed against his mouth. Oh god, he’s forgotten to put it back on.

“I… I t-took it off b-because I… my… I wanted to c-cook at it felt too tight…” His excuse is weak and pathetic and he knows it.

“And who gave you permission?” Saeran turns his head to both sides, cracking his neck before making eye contact with Yoosung. Yoosung’s hands fall limply to his sides and he looks down at the floor.

“No one,” he whispers. “I was going to put it b-back on.”

Saeran steps forward slowly and backs Yoosung up against the wall. He lifts his hands and wraps them around his throat.

“Hmm, that’s not good enough. You already lost your chance at escape.”

Saeran’s hands aren’t too tight yet on his aching neck, so he quickly tries to plead his case.

“I d-didn’t escape because I p-promised I’d stay,” he stammers desperately.

“You thought I was stupid enough to believe that,” Saeran growls, pressing his body close to Yoosung’s. Yoosung’s hands fly up and grab hold of Saeran’s hands in a pathetic attempt to loosen his grip.

“I d-didn’t leave,” is all he can manage to say. What does he have to do to get through to Saeran? He stares into his strange mint green eyes and tries to plead with his own to let him go. He wants Saeran to remember last night under the stars. He wants him to let him help him.

Suddenly, Saeran lets go of Yoosung throat and he gasps for air, choking and doubling over. He tugs him into the bathroom by his shirt and starts trying to pull it up over his head.

“Take off your fucking clothes.”

Yoosung feels panic and dread settle inside him again. He tries to grab at the shirt to stop him.

“W-why?”

“I recall my offer to carve questions into your skin,” he remarks idly, still tugging at Yoosung’s clothes. “That still stands.”

Yoosung freezes for a second at the thought, but he keeps gripping hold of the shirt.

“I d-don’t want to take it off.”

“Right.” Saeran slams Yoosung against the wall and bends over to search for something in his pile of clothes. Yoosung feels his head crack and he cries out in pain.

“P-please,” he begs. He doesn’t know how many times he’s said that word in the past few days.

“Jesus Christ, take off your fucking clothes!”

Yoosung clutches his shirt and he can feel himself shaking with sobs and fear again.

“I d-don’t want to.”

“Did you take my knife?” Saeran says suddenly, throwing his clothes out the bathroom door.

“N-no!” Yoosung squeaks, panic getting worse. “I swear. Y-you can… you can check. I p-promise I don’t have it.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” Saeran returns to pulling at Yoosung’s shirt, a few buttons pop off the shirt and Yoosung yelps, trying to cower away.

“W-why would I take it?!” He can barely breathe at this point.

“You took off your collar! Just stop fucking squirming or I’ll kill you.” The threat doesn’t sound empty. Yoosung stops resisting but his body is shaking uncontrollably.

“S-sorry,” he chokes out between shallow breaths. He can’t say anything more than that. His chest is tightening more and more by the second. Saeran yanks his shirt off the then tugs Yoosung’s pants down.

“Get in the fucking shower.”

Yoosung all but falls into the shower. He’s on his hands and knees, desperately trying to slow his breathing. He doesn’t even care that he’s naked right now. He  _ can’t breathe. _

The ice cold water suddenly starts hitting his back, and he would have cried out if he could breathe. It’s not helping at all, and he tries to push himself up to turn on the hot water. As soon as he manages it, he collapses back to the floor and sits down, putting his head between his knees. He’s heard that’s what you’re meant to do when you can’t breathe.

Eventually he manages to calm down enough to breathe properly but his body is still shaking and he’s still sobbing. He’s vaguely aware that Saeran left the room at some point, which he’s grateful for. The water is a little too cold, but he’s too weak to get up, so he just tilts his head back and lets it hit his face. Maybe it can wash away his weakness and shame.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there and he doesn’t know if Saeran will ever come and make him get out. He finds he doesn’t care right now. If he focuses hard enough he can pretend the water’s cleaning him of all the bad things he’s done.

“Did you clean?” Saeran’s voice suddenly says from the doorframe. Yoosung doesn’t even flinch. He’s too exhausted.

“The water’s cleaning me,” he says quietly. He feels a hand on his chest and he opens his eyes in shock.

“Is it?” Saeran smiles wickedly. “Then you don’t mind if I…” His hand trails lower down his chest. Yoosung’s hand flies up and grabs hold of Saeran’s wrist to stop him.

“No. I don’t w-want that.”

“Don’t you though?” Saeran asks teasingly. Yoosung swallows and tries to move Saeran’s hand away.

“N-no, I don’t.” His voice breaks on the last word.

“If you don’t want it then fucking clean or I’ll do it for you,” he growls. “And I’ll make sure you’re plenty dirty first.”

Yoosung loosens his grip on Saeran’s wrist at the shock of the threat.

“I-I’m clean.”

“Then get out.”

Saeran yanks his hand away and storms out the room. Yoosung lets out a loud, shaking breath. Did he handle that well? In all honesty he’s not sure his brain was working properly, but Saeran didn’t do anything to him so maybe he did okay.

He shuts off the water and climbs out the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist. His clothes are gone. Did Saeran move them? What does he do? Does he ask for more or is he supposed to find more himself? He leans heavily against the sink and tries to stop himself shaking.

After a few moments he feels something sliding around his neck and he flinches, but it’s just Saeran putting the collar back on. It feels like it rubs against his wounds and restricts his movements even more than before.

“I have n-nothing to wear,” he says quietly.

“Come to the bedroom,” Saeran breathes into his ear before his footsteps head down the hallway. Yoosung shivers in fear. The way he said it… the implications… Yoosung just hopes he’s looking into it far too much. Saeran wouldn’t do that to him. Not again.

He doesn’t have much of a choice, so he slowly pushes himself away from the sink and heavily walks to the bedroom, dragging his feet as he does. He clutches at the towel around his waist and wishes it were big enough to cover his full body.

When Yoosung enters the bedroom there’s a pair of tight black pants and a red tank top laid out on the bed. Yoosung blinks at them. Are they… for him? They look a lot like Saeran’s own clothes, and nothing like what Yoosung would usually wear or what Saeran would choose to dress him in after picking out the suit so carefully.

“Are… am I w-wearing that?” He wishes his voice would stop breaking. Saeran looks at him, a bored expression on his face.

“Well, you ruined the best outfit I had,” he states. “But if you’d rather stay naked I can think of all sorts of fun we can have.” Yoosung’s heart stutters and his breath catches.

“N-no, it’s fine. I can wear th-this.”

Yoosung reaches out for the shirt, but before he can even touch it Saeran’s grabbed his hand, thrown him down on the bed and climbed on top of him. Yoosung yelps in terror.

“What would you do if I fucked you right now?” Saeran asks, trailing his fingers down Yoosung’s bare chest. Yoosung presses his hands against Saeran’s chest and tries to push him as far away as he can.

“I d-don’t… I don’t w-want that,” he says a little hysterically. His breaths are getting faster again and he feels so exposed and vulnerable right now that he can barely hear anything through the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

“You said that last time, but I distinctly remember you telling me you liked it after.” Saeran catches both of Yoosung’s wrists in his hands and forces them above his head, pinning them there.

“No! I d-don’t want this! P-please. I’ve never… I’ve never… please don’t… I c-can’t… I c-can’t…” His words aren’t making much sense anymore, and he can barely even see Saeran through the tears right now. He tries to bring his legs up and squeeze the towel between them in case Saeran tries to pull it away.

“You can’t what?” Saeran leans forward and nuzzles Yoosung’s neck in a way that’s almost affectionate. “Use your words.”

“I can’t d-do that, please, I’m n-not… I’m n-not…” He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say anymore. He’s just desperate for Saeran to stop. Yoosung had been expecting Saeran to bite him, so it takes him by surprise when he just starts suckling at the dip in his neck where his collarbone is. He lets out a whimper. He hates that it feels good, especially compared to all the pain, and that it’s sending shivers down his body but he knows he still wants him to stop.

“P-please don’t,” he stammers, turning his head and trying to pull away from Saeran’s mouth. Saeran suddenly releases his wrists and pulls back, staring at him unblinkingly for a moment before shuffling to the front of the bed. Yoosung’s hands immediately fly to the towel to grip it in place.

“You’re such a fucking pussy.” Saeran almost sounds disappointed. It hurts more than it should, considering the situation.

“N-no I’m not,” he argues weakly, trying to stop himself crying.

“Oh yeah?” Saeran sneers. “All you do is cry and beg. You look like you’re going to cry right now.” Yoosung sits up not taking his eyes off Saeran.

“I’m n-not weak,” he insists. Saeran leans towards him and bares his teeth.

“Prove it.”

Yoosung resists the overwhelming urge to flinch away.

“H-how?”

“That’s what makes you a pussy.” Saeran grabs hold of Yoosung’s hair and shoves his face down into the mattress. “I’m getting bored of you. Remember what happens when I get bored?”

Yoosung keeps clutching hold of the towel and tries to talk but he can’t. His face is pressed down too hard so all that Saeran can probably hear is a muffled sob. His mind flashes to the countless ways Saeran could hurt him right now.

“God, will you stop fucking crying?” Saeran emphasises each word as if it were its own sentence and releases Yoosung’s hair. Yoosung pushes himself up and inhales a huge breath of air. “Don’t you ever get mad? Don’t you want to lash out? Don’t you hate me?”

“N-no! I’m j-just scared. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I want to be hurt!” Saeran screams into his face, and Yoosung’s unable to stop himself flinching. “I like it. I want you to fucking hurt me.”

“I… I… d-don’t want to hurt you,” he says again. Saeran suddenly pulls out his pocketknife and shoves it into Yoosung’s hand. So he found it.

“You should hurt me. I deserve it.”

Yoosung holds the knife in shock for a moment.

“I… n-no. You… I don’t w-want to.”

Saeran rolls his eyes and flicks open the blade, watching as it glints in the light. He holds out his arm. “Cut me.”

Yoosung frowns and moves the knife further away from Saeran’s arm. “No.”

“Do you know how many of my previous missions would have killed for this chance?” Saeran says incredulously.  “They all hate me. Why don’t you?”

“I… I d-don’t hate you,” he says slowly. “I think… I don’t know. I w-want to help you.”

“God, stop that! Is that what you get off on? Being insufferably nice to everyone?”

“You need someone to b-be nice to you.” He’s still stuttering, but his voice is getting stronger. “I want to help you, and even though you h-hurt me, I don’t hate you.”

“You’ll leave just like everyone else. Don’t you want your big brother Luciel to come save you?” he spits.

“I w-want to see him again but…” He trails off. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Just… go get dressed, Yoosung,” Saeran says, slumping forward and resting his face in his hands. “I can’t stand you being nice all the fucking time.”

Yoosung looks down at the knife in his hand.

“Do you… do you want this back?” That was a pretty stupid thing to say, but what if this is a test?

“Are you sure you want to give that back?” Saeran scoffs. “You do know what I’ll do with it, right?”

“You… you panicked last time you couldn’t find it,” he reasons. In all honesty, he doesn’t know why he’s offering to give it back. If he keeps it himself, he doesn’t have to actually use it, but that also means Saeran won’t be able to either. “I don’t know why I…” He trails off, looking at the knife as Saeran slowly takes it from him. His hand lingers for a moment when their skin touches, and Yoosung shivers. Why is that comforting to him?

“I could easily kill you, you know?” Saeran says softly as he pulls the knife towards him, and before Yoosung can react he glides it across his own forearm. It opens the skin seamlessly.

“No!” Yoosung yells and he reaches out to grab the knife. His hand clamps over Saeran’s and stops him moving it, yanking it from his skin. He stares in horror at the blood starting to appear. “Don’t do that.”

“Why?” Saeran asks, sounding surprised.

“You shouldn’t hurt yourself,” he says, looking up at Saeran with absolute worry filling his voice. “You don’t deserve that. Please don’t do that.”

“Stop worrying about me!” Saeran yells, but he sounds strange. Almost flustered. He’s probably not used to people caring about him. “I like this. Don’t you get it? I’m fucked up, Yoosung.”

Yoosung pulls at Saeran’s hand, moving the knife further away from his skin. His hands are shaking but he manages to do it.

“I d-don’t want you to hurt yourself.” The cut isn’t that deep, but it’s bleeding and it’s making Yoosung’s head spin. The sight of him hurting himself brought out a stronger emotion in Yoosung than he expected, and he isn’t quite sure how to place it. “Y-you should clean that.”

Saeran stands and heads to the door.

“Get dressed, Yoosung.” And with that, he leaves.

 


	10. Chapter 10

There are plenty of feelings inside him right now; turbulent waters dictating his thoughts, anxiety sloshing around in the corners of his mind. It hurts. The cut had felt like sanity, like independence being given back to him. That was the only thing he could control after all. His fate wasn’t his, his actions were for Mint Eye, but the way he felt pain? The way he hurt himself? That was solely controllable by Unknown. 

He looks down at the wound, black nails skimming the unknitted seam of flesh. He digs his fingers around the edges, fresh blood bubbling out accompanied by a faint sting of pain. Unknown sighs, closing his eyes and relishing in the sheer familiarity of the feeling. He let himself get flustered by Yoosung, by his fake act of caring over his captor. He had to purge his mind of those giant doe eyes and soft voice. 

It's been too long since he checked his algorithm. He hopes that it hasn't been cracked in the time he was distracted by Yoosung. He doesn't bother cleaning his cut. It'll just clot and close on its own like always. So, he sits back down in the corner of the living room, laptop balanced on his knees and begins working. 

It's not like he's actively trying to hack the RFA anymore. This type of work is more protective. If Luciel gets into his computer, then he can try to use it to determine their location, so Unknown puts all he can into creating a firewall to prevent access. Luciel's already stolen enough documents from his hard drive.

Unknown also sends a few pings out to Mint Eye servers, only to receive no response. Unknown clenches his teeth and wills away the small voice in the back of his head that tells him that he’s been abandoned once more. 

"Did you clean it?" 

The voice is so soft that Unknown isn’t sure he’s heard something until he sees the shadow in the hallway. He glances up lazily, blinking as his eyes readjust from the harsh green and black strings of code. 

Yoosung’s changed into the clothes Unknown laid out. The tank top sits loosely over Yoosung’s shoulders, his own frame not broad enough, his arms skinny and thin. The dip of the neck sits way too low, and it seems Yoosung’s tied the strings tight, closing the small gap that Unknown has always left open. The tank top snags at Yoosung’s hips, right where the leather pants would button if they fit. Yoosung’s chosen to leave them unbuttoned. Unknown can see a small peak of porcelain skin peeking out from under the shirt. There’s no way these clothes compare to the quality of the suit he had selected for his prettiest pet, but… it’ll do.

Unknown realizes he’s been quiet. Oh, yes. Yoosung had asked him a question, hadn’t he?

"No, I didn’t," he responds blankly, returning to his work. He ignores the way the little bit of revealed skin on Yoosung’s abdomen is more tantalizing than it should be, considering he’s already seen the kid naked. 

Luckily, Yoosung doesn’t question that response and disappears down the hallway. Finally, Unknown can find some respite from his annoying, blonde puppy.

Minutes pass. Yoosung returns with the medical kit in hand and a determined expression on his face. 

"Let me do it."

Is Yoosung serious? Doesn't he know that there's more doses of the drug in there? He's basically asking Unknown to drug him. He ignores Yoosung and continues typing. 

Yoosung kneels next to him, hands shaking as he opens the medical kit.

"Give me your arm," Yoosung demands, his steady voice a strong contrast to the way his limbs shake. Even if he did manage to clean any wounds, Saeran is sure he’ll do a poor job, shaking like that. 

Saeran slams the laptop closed and sets it aside with a huff before baring his arm for Yoosung. The bleeding had stopped for the most part, and the trails of blood have dried and turned dark on his skin.

He's not sure why he listened, but there was something about the confidence in Yoosung’s voice when he commanded him that he enjoyed. Maybe Yoosung is strong enough to stand up for himself, and if Unknown keeps pushing him, Yoosung will hurt him in return.

Saeran watches Yoosung flinch when he sees the needles. How did he not realize that was where they were stored? With a determined set to his jaw, Yoosung ignores the syringes filled with pinkish swirling liquid and instead reaches for the gauze and the unlabelled bottle containing the alcohol Saeran has been using to clean up Yoosung’s wounds.

He wipes most of the blood off first, and then puts some of the liquid on the gauze and carefully takes Saeran's arm in his free hand. He positions the gauze over his arm.

"This might sting," he says softly before he starts gently dabbing the cut.

It does sting, but Saeran doesn't mention anything. It doesn't hurt more than anything else done to him.

Why was Yoosung doing this? Was this some misguided attempt to return the favour? Saeran only cleans Yoosung’s wounds because it would be inconvenient if he got an infection from all the abuse. It isn’t due to something pathetic, like him actually caring. 

Despite this, Yoosung’s fingers feel soft on his scarred skin. Saeran frowns.

"Why are you like this?" 

Yoosung doesn't look up at Unknown as he speaks, continuing to focus on gently cleaning the cut. He’s unpractised and presses a little longer than necessary, but Saeran doesn’t bother mentioning that. The extra burn just makes Saeran feel more alive.

"I don't like seeing people hurt," he says, just as quietly. "Especially when they do it to themselves."

Emotions Saeran can’t name stir inside him. He wishes Yoosung would stop touching him. He wonders when Yoosung became confident enough to touch him without asking for permission.

"I hate you." The words would be harsh, but they come out quietly, and Unknown isn't even sure himself if he means them. He isn't sure how to process what he's feeling, but this gentle touch is enough to turn his blood into lava, and suddenly he feels very warm.

"I know," Yoosung says sadly. There are plenty of reasons for Yoosung to be sad about, but Saeran doesn’t consider this one of them. He tilts his head to the side, watching Yoosung carefully. He’s too focused on his work to notice Saeran staring. Yoosung finishes cleaning the wound and pulls out some bandages.  

"I wanted to be a vet, you know. This is... a little different, though. You don't have fur." What was that supposed to mean?

Saeran isn't sure what Yoosung is trying to do. If it was meant to be funny, Saeran definitely doesn’t understand. He just stares at the hand Yoosung is using to keep his arm still, even though his limbs feel so weak he can't move - and even if he could, he wouldn't. Why is Yoosung still touching him? Why isn’t he recoiling from the monster in front of him? 

"No fur, but... I'm not even human anymore. I might as well be an animal."

Yoosung frowns as he carefully wraps Saeran's arm in a bandage. Not too much, but enough that it won't catch on anything. 

"I don't know about that," Yoosung says quietly. "I think you're the most human person I've ever met."

“You’re wrong.” 

Yoosung finishes wrapping the bandage, and he sits back on his heels. 

"You've been through a lot and you're acting how anyone else would in this situation. Maybe... maybe even better than some. I think... I think you're pretty strong to even still be alive," he says, shrugging.

"I'm only alive because I have a mission," Saeran replies, coldly. Now that Yoosung has moved, he brings his arm back to his chest, like an injured animal tending to its wounds. "I'd rather be dead."

Yoosung shakes his head.

"But you're not. And... I think you're alive for more than just that."

Saeran hates this conversation, and he hates that Yoosung is looking at him like he understands him, like he’s defined who Saeran is. 

"You'd make a good vet." 

Yoosung opens his mouth to respond, looking completely blindsided by the compliment. 

"Oh... uh... thanks," he mumbles, then switches the subject. "And... I don't know. I feel like... if you were only alive for the mission, that you would... I don't know. You'd be different. Maybe I'm wrong." 

"You are wrong," Saeran repeats. He reaches for his laptop again and opens it up. "I only exist to serve the mission, and when I'm done, then I can die."

There. End of discussion. Yoosung looks dejected. It makes Saeran settle comfortably in his place; yes, this is how it should be. Master and pet. Saeran has all the power, and he can choose when he goes. He’s got control over this one part of his fate, at the very least.

"You'd leave me?" 

Saeran peeks over the top of his laptop. Yoosung looks thoroughly confused with himself and his words. He fumbles to put everything back into the medical kit. 

"I'm a recruiter," Saeran explains, even though he has no obligation to. "I can't join Paradise. I just... find members. Once I'm done, then I have nothing."

Yoosung frowns and sinks down a little lower on his knees. 

"But... but I thought..." 

Saeran is purposefully contradicting some of the things he's said to him before. This is a truth that barely gets out to the new Mint Eye members, and once they’re fully indoctrinated, they don’t care anyway about the poor soul who broke them. Their only words for Saeran after he’s delivered them are thankful. It pains Saeran that he can’t share in the joy of Paradise, that he’ll be forever on the outside like some unwanted alien, never fully belonging. 

"You don't deserve to die,” Yoosung continues, voice breaking the silence.

Saeran swears Yoosung looks upset. That doesn't make any sense. He's never been any good at reading body language, anyway; he must have interpreted wrong.

"You've known me for four days, and look what I've done to you. Imagine we're together for weeks, or months. You won't think that I deserve to be alive then."

"I will," he says with certainty that must be laced with stupidity. "No one deserves to die. No matter... no matter what you do to me, you'll..." A pause. "You... you do bad things, but... it's not your fault. It's... it's the result of everything that's been done to you."

The ignored laptop on his lap shuts off with a click, so Saeran closes it and pushes it away. There’s a remedy for the overly sensitive way Yoosung is acting. He reaches for the medical kit. 

“I’ll change your mind." It’s half an apology. Whatever is between them is complicated and scary, and Saeran doesn't want to think about it.

Yoosung gulps, eyeing the kit with trepidation. They both know what’s in there.

"Do... do you have to?" His hand unconsciously finds its way to grip hold of his arm where the bruise is.

"Yes." He lifts up a syringe, pleased that he had the foresight to fill multiple vials, and flicks the tube, his nail clinking against the glass. "This is what I do, Yoosung." Saeran watches the liquid swirl with longing. It’s almost a waste to give it to someone who doesn’t want it. "This is who I am,” Saeran continues, pushing onto his knees and grabbing Yoosung’s arm. "This is why you shouldn't be kind to me anymore."

Yoosung recoils.

"I... c-can't I not have it today?" he asks, trying to yank his arm free from Saeran’s grasp. Unfortunately for him, Saeran’s purposefully digging his thumb into the bruises of the wound, which should make extra struggling painful. "M-my arm is really b-bruised up."

“It’ll hurt more if you fight me.” For threatening words, Saeran’s never sounded so meek.

"Saeran," Yoosung chokes out, trying to pull his arm away before the needle gets too close. "P-please don't do this."

If Yoosung would stop saying his name like that, if he would start fighting back, then maybe Saeran wouldn’t feel so awful about forcing the injection on him. If Yoosung would spit in his face, call him a fucker, call him all the worst things he’s been called over the years, Saeran would find comfort in routine. Instead, he’s graced with pathetic cries as he pushes the tip of the needle into bruised and torn skin. 

Why is Yoosung just giving up so quickly? Why is there less of a need for restraints compared to other captives? 

As soon as the syringe is empty, Saeran pulls the needle out and discards it. 

"I told you that you can’t trust me," he says thickly, swallowing the lump in his throat. He cradles Yoosung’s cheek in his calloused hands, wiping away tears he’s caused and understanding that he doesn’t deserve to even touch Yoosung.

No matter how much people have begged him in the past, it's never felt this raw. Why can’t he just fight back?

Yoosung’s eyes are unfocused as he looks at Saeran.

"Y-you don't have to d-do this," he stammers between shallow breaths, bringing up his other hand to clutch his ruined arm. There’s nothing Saeran can say about that.

"Come here, I'll hold you through the worst of it." So instead, he wants to help comfort Yoosung from the pain he caused. That's sick, isn't it?

"It m-makes me feel... l-like I'm not myself," Yoosung sobs. "Like I'm empty. I d-don't like it." 

"It'll get better." Saeran coos and backs up until he's resting against the wall. He opens his legs and pats the ground between them. "Come here." 

Yoosung coughs a little through his tears as he crawls over. 

"H-how long do I n-need them for?" he asks once he reaches Saeran.

"Just until you reach Paradise," Saeran says as he wraps his arms around Yoosung's shoulders and pulls him so his back is pressed against Saeran's chest.

"I d-don't want to go to Paradise," Yoosung sobs, bringing his hands to his face. "I w-want... I w-want to go home."

"I know," he responds, dropping his voice to just a whisper. "I can't do anything about that."

"I m-miss my family," Yoosung chokes out. "I w-want to see them. And my f-friends. I d-don't... I don't want them to worry about m-me."

"I can't let you go, Yoosung." He holds on a little tighter.

"Y-you can come w-with me," he says desperately. "Th-they'll let you. They'll all l-like you, I know they w-will."

"You want me around your friends and family?" Saeran feels hope escape his lips, and it's so foreign he isn't sure how to process it, so he convinces himself Yoosung isn't being truthful. Why would he want someone who hurts him around the people he loves? Saeran would only hurt them, too.

"Y-yes," he nods. "I... I still w-want to help you."

"Oh."

There’s nothing else to say to that. He wants to berate Yoosung and convince him that he'd just hurt anyone he meets, but he can't even do that, because it feels so fucking good that someone trusts him... even when Saeran’s done nothing to earn it. Conversation over, Yoosung sits limply as he allows Saeran to hold him. It’s awkward, uncomfortable. Saeran’s leg starts to go numb. It doesn’t matter, though. 

There’s something about Yoosung’s presence that Saeran craves. He’s only faintly starting to become aware of it, convincing himself it’s to undo the hurt he caused with empty words and a one-sided embrace. 

Eventually, the shaking stops.

"It's happening," Yoosung chokes out. He’s able to identify the way it feels now, Saeran notes. Saeran smoothes Yoosung’s hair, pushing it away from his face. He still hasn't put in his hairclips since the first time he showered.

"It'll go away soon," Saeran lies.

"B-but then it'll happen again," he says between shallow breaths. "And again and again and again and again."

"Yes," Saeran says, neglecting to mention his limited supply of doses. "But only until you get to Paradise."

Yoosung  digs his nails into Saeran’s arm, leaving crescent shaped indents on his skin.

"I don't w-want it. If this is what I have to d-do then I don't want it."

"No one wants it at first," he offers. He knows it's a weak excuse.

Yoosung swallows. 

"I'll never want this," he says with certainty, petulance leaking into his voice. "Never." It’s the first time he’s heard Yoosung truly angry. Then, as soon as it’s sprouted, the anger slips away and Yoosung molds his body into Saeran’s, going completely limp in his arms. He isn’t asleep, his breathing is too ragged for that. Yoosung’s just stopped caring, like the drug allows him to. 

The conversation must be over now. Saeran pushes Yoosung off of him. There’s nothing more to comfort when feelings don’t exist. Yoosung's fists unclench and he struggles to get to his feet.

"I don't understand why you have to do this," he whispers, eyes narrowed, remnants of anger gripping onto his words.

"You will someday," Saeran dismisses, opening the laptop again. "I have to go to work now."

"I'm going to the bedroom," Yoosung says as he stumbles out the room. His feet must still hurt, or the drugs affected him; could be either or both. 

Saeran feels relief when Yoosung is gone, as if the sun has set and he can finally be himself under the moon and in the shadows. Funny... Saeran is the warden here, but he’s starting to feel very stifled by Yoosung’s presence. 

It’s heartbreaking watching the change in Yoosung when Saeran administers the drug. Is that how he was when he first began taking them? He tries to pry into his forgotten memories, but the lid is sealed and he can only remember blurs of colour and pain.

Soon the pain will end. It’s only temporary, after all.  Yes, Yoosung will be fine. He is strong. He will be a good fit for Mint Eye. 

Saeran opens up the laptop and begins working again. He's neglected his protective measure for most of the day in favour of supporting Yoosung, but now he really needs to focus.

It's been four days, after all. Luciel has to pass out from exhaustion soon.

***

By the time Saeran finishes his work, it's past dinner time. He decides to check the RFA chatroom once more before closing his laptop and he notices that it's fairly dead today. Luciel hasn't been online much at all besides small snippet updates here and there, while the rest of the members just encourage him to rest.

The thought that Luciel is working himself ragged to try and find Yoosung makes Saeran’s chest bloom with a wicked type of pride.

He goes to the kitchen to microwave some food and notices Yoosung didn't clean up from earlier. He should probably be upset, but right now, he's too excited that he's caused the RFA so much distress. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Luciel will hurt himself by working too much.

Tonight, he microwaves a frozen pasta dinner, one of the few meals in the small freezer on top of the fridge. He brings the plate and one glass of water into the bedroom where Yoosung is.

Yoosung’s spread out on the bed, legs dangling off, arms above his head, eyes glued to the ceiling. He shifts when Saeran enters the room but doesn’t acknowledge him. 

"Here." He shoves the glass of water into Yoosung’s hand and sets the microwaved pasta down on the bed beside him. Yoosung reluctantly pushes himself into a sitting position, regarding Saeran with a vacant stare.

His purple irises are starting to darken. Multiple doses will do that, after all. The colour is much less vibrant than it was when Saeran began. It’ll be beautiful to watch the transition from lavender to mint green.

Yoosung drinks the water of his own accord, no need for Saeran to force him this time. Just like last time, though, the water dribbles out from the corners of his mouth, as if he’s forgotten how to swallow. Yoosung stares at the pasta. 

"Thanks," he croaks, voice raspy. Saeran just shrugs. Even on drugs, social niceties are hard to break, apparently. 

"How do my clothes fit?" Saeran takes a seat on the bed next to Yoosung and lifts the fork to his mouth. The pasta is dry and salty. Then he hands the fork to Yoosung. "You didn't do dishes earlier."

Yoosung looks at the fork for a moment before he realises he's supposed to take it. It seems like he’s purposefully trying to avoid touching Saeran. 

"The pants are too tight," he says, stabbing some of the pasta with the fork. "But it's fine. And I'll remember to do it next time."

"They're supposed to be tight," Saeran responds, looking down at his own pants. Yoosung nods.

"I know. But they're too tight on my ass," Saeran imagines Yoosung would normally have a hard time saying something so blunt, but it doesn’t even phase him as he feeds himself pasta. Yoosung hands the fork back to Saeran. 

"It's because you actually have an ass," Saeran says, suppressing a laugh. This isn't something he imagined Yoosung saying when he was sober. Saeran takes the fork and another bite of pasta. Just as bad on the second bite. "It's very fuckable."

"Hmm," Yoosung hums. "I guess. You don't have one at all." Again, no real response to the meaning behind his words. Wouldn’t Yoosung be flustered? 

"So, you're looking?" He hands the fork to Yoosung. This should elicit a response, at least. Yoosung seems closeted. 

Yoosung takes the fork. His brows dip. It appears as if he’s thinking about his response, but it’s evading him. 

"Yeah," Yoosung says as he gets another piece of pasta on the fork. "You're attractive."

Wow. 

"That's... Interesting. I thought you didn't like men?"

Not like you needed to like men to find one attractive, but Saeran got the feeling Yoosung wouldn't offer that information sober.

"I never said that. I just said I wasn't gay."

"Then what are you?" Saeran yanks the plate of pasta closer to him, stealing the fork held forgotten in Yoosung’s hand. 

"I don't know," Yoosung says, and he pauses to think for a moment. "I have a friend at school who's bisexual. Maybe I'm that."

"Oh, yeah?" Saeran had been spending so much time trying to convince Yoosung that he's gay that he's surprised that the kid is just offering this information now. Saeran doesn't hate this version of Yoosung. It's easier to keep calm around him.

"Because I like women, too." Yoosung cocks his head to the side, lips quirking up as if he’s uncovered some great secret. Whatever emotion he’s showing doesn’t hit his dull eyes. "I guess that must be it, huh."

"I guess." Saeran takes two bites of pasta before handing the fork to Yoosung. This pasta fucking sucks. Might as well give it to Yoosung, who probably can’t even tell what it tastes like right now. "You finish it."

Yoosung takes the fork, but absentmindedly sets it on the bed.

"Why are you so obsessed with what I am?”

“I want to humiliate you." 

"Huh." Completely abandoning the fork, Yoosung eats the pasta with his fingers. "I'll probably be humiliated when I can feel again," he says. "My family's pretty conservative."

"Yeah, but isn't it nicer not to feel?” Saeran purrs. “I can do this for you all the time, if you want."

"I don't know. It's not really... normal, is it?" Yoosung points out. "It'll probably get boring."

"We can make it more interesting."

Food gone, Saeran takes the fork, plate and water to the kitchen. When he returns, Yoosung’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, blank faced. Saeran decides that probably means confusion, considering the drugs mute most emotions. Saeran pauses in front of Yoosung, nudging his knees open with his legs and standing really close. He pushes blonde bangs from Yoosung’s forehead and plants a soft kiss on his skin, chasing the electric feeling he gets when they touch. 

"We can fuck." 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. Sorry for long delay. Ely has been busy so they've given it to me (Blackprose) to write most of the story from now on. They will still be editing and writing chapters occasionally.  
> Here's to hoping I can stay to a consistent schedule of uploads. As a thank you for everyone sticking with us, I've prepared two chapters for this week. :)
> 
> Also, dunno if people are into writing soundtracks but I listened to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EnSUxWuofAY%20) while writing the chapter.

Yoosung’s begun to recognize this feeling. It’s a small spiral down into numbness, starting with his toes and ebbing into the corners of his brain until even thoughts feel incoherent.

Saeran keeps speaking to him, keeps trying to engage in some type of conversation, and Yoosung keeps spilling his thoughts, like the cracked ceramic whale bowl he used to own.

Hot lips press against Yoosung’s forehead. He barely registers their knees knocking, Saeran nudging Yoosung’s legs open so he’s standing between them.

“We can fuck.”

Yoosung tilts his head back, spine no longer wanting to support the weight of his head. He regards Saeran through glazed eyes, wondering if this is what the world looks like to Seven, who seems to have perpetually smudged glasses.

Yoosung licks his dry lips, tongue feeling swollen in his mouth.

"I guess… but I've never done that before. And I don't know if I can get hard like this."

"Do you want to try?"

Saeran’s voice is calm, deep and rhythmic. When Yoosung stares at him like this, he can see freckles on his face. It makes him momentarily forget how intimidating his captor can be. Yoosung thinks he’s attractive, he’s already voiced that. But does he want to fuck Saeran?

"Um..." Yoosung pauses to think. He can feel something nagging at the side of his brain, but it's not loud enough for him to hear properly, like speaking underwater. He turns around and looks at the bed. He would assume he would be the one on his back, but... how would that work? He honestly has no idea. He tries to imagine it, imagines Saeran touching him, and only gropes at the gnawing nothingness within himself. "I didn't want to earlier," he says as he turns back to look at Saeran. "So I don't think I would want to now. I can't... I can't really tell."

He can feel something weird moving around in his stomach. Maybe it's the pasta.

Saeran hums. He braces his hands on Yoosung’s shoulders and gently lowers him onto the bed. Yoosung couldn’t fight it even if he wanted to, so he lays down, thankful for the plush beneath him. Then, Saeran climbs over him, opening up Yoosung’s legs and grinding their hips together.

Mint eyes betray no emotion. Yoosung never imagined someone looking at him like that when their bodies were…

Oh.

Oh no.

"Wait," he says in a dull voice. He can feel the weird feeling in his stomach getting worse. "Wait, I feel weird."

Is he going to throw up? Maybe the pasta was bad.

"It'll pass." Saeran’s voice is muffled, his face nestled in the crook of Yoosung’s neck. The breath is warm on his skin, sending anticipatory signals to Yoosung’s stomach. Teeth chomp down on his skin, gentler than other times Saeran bit him to hurt. Yoosung tastes bile in the back of his throat.

The feeling is spreading up into Yoosung's chest. Something's wrong.

"No... I feel... I feel really weird," he says, and he places his hands against Saeran's chest to push him away. "I feel like... I feel..." His breathing is starting to get faster. What's happening?

Finally, the person on top of him listens. He halts grinding their hips and lifts himself off.

"What? You don't like it?"

"I... I..." Yoosung feels like his throat is closing up, and he can feel his body starting to shake. Then, it’s like a dam has burst inside him, previously muffled thoughts screaming in his head, causing him to cry out. He pushes Saeran away. "No! No! Stop, I d-don't... I don't w-want this."

Emotions are crashing onto him with the weight of the ocean. He starts weeping, body quivering with panic.

Thankfully, Saeran listens, gently slinking off Yoosung like a dejected octopus and rolling onto his back. He thinks he hears words, Saeran speaking or something, but it just sounds garbled; not Korean, but some fictitious language.

Yoosung rolls onto his side and pulls his legs up to his chest as he tries to control his breathing, which is coming out in shallow, noisy gasps right now. He squeezes his eyes shut.

No, stop. Stop crying all the time. This isn’t helping. Like a short circuiting computer, his mind is only capable of thinking in loops. Did he... did he really almost just...?

Even considering the possibility of that potentially happening makes his stomach contract like he’s been kicked. He's a shaking, whimpering mess, but there’s a silver lining here: at least Saeran stopped.

Yoosung starts mumbling incoherently to himself through the loud, ugly sobs, all the emotions from the day crashing over him. He doesn't even know what he's saying. Maybe he owes Saeran an explanation. Yoosung desperately hopes whatever he is saying is sufficient.

Silence descends upon the room like a wet woollen blanket.

"What do you want from me, Yoosung?" Saeran murmurs, voice quivering.

Yoosung gradually calms down enough so he can breathe properly. It takes a while, and he heard Saeran's question, but he can't answer.

"I w-want you to s-stop doing that," he stammers. "I-I've never d-done it before and... and I-I always thought that m-my first time would b-be..."

Special. He wants it to be special, but he realises how stupid that sounds. Saeran's first time wasn't special. Why would he care if Yoosung's is? So he leaves the sentence unfinished. He doesn't need to dig himself into the abyss.

"But... didn't you like the other thing we did? And I felt that you liked what was just happening."

Saeran finally sits up and moves to the front of the bed, crossing his legs underneath his body and lifting his leather jacket so he can zip it up, covering up that strange tattoo on his shoulder. Saeran’s body language is so meek right now, and he speaks into his coat when he says, "It's okay if the other person likes it, isn't it?"

Yoosung shifts slightly and he realises... Saeran's right. His body was reacting to something while his brain wasn't. The evidence is right there between his legs. Shamefully, Yoosung tugs his shirt down. Not like it accomplishes anything.

Yoosung knows he wouldn't have done anything with Saeran if he hadn't been so delirious from the drugs. He doesn't have feelings for Saeran. He loves... he loves… women. No, a woman. A specific woman… one he just met, a woman whose name is...

MC. Yeah. That's it.

"I love MC," he says quietly. "And... and you're only supposed t-to do... that with s-someone you love."

"I've done that plenty of times. I've never been in love,” Saeran spits sardonically, like he’s throwing the idea of love right back into Yoosung’s face.

Yoosung curls up into an even tighter ball. Or as tight as these new pants will let him, anyway.

"I know," Yoosung whispers. "I-I'm sorry." He doesn't know how else he can reassure him right now. Maybe if his chest weren't still far too tight he might sit up and try and comfort him, but he can't. He needs to calm down first. For now, he only has his stammering, disjointed words to help. "One d-day you'll... you'll find someone."

"Don't strain yourself," Saeran responds and nudges Yoosung with his foot. It reminds Yoosung of when Saeran called him his dog, his pet. "Do you want me to hold you?"

"P-please," he rasps out. The drugs must still be affecting his speech because he voices the first thought that comes to his head. Seek comfort and forget. He needs the soft, gentle Saeran who doesn't try and fuck him while he's completely out of it on drugs. He wants the Saeran who opens up to him and holds him and says he'll try not to hurt him the next day. He wants... he wants that Saeran.

"Come here, then," he calls out to Yoosung. "It's almost time to sleep. We can fall asleep together."

Yoosung's trembling as he makes his way over to Saeran, but he's pretty certain it's just the after effects now. Saeran wraps his arms around Yoosung's shoulders and holds him close to his chest.

It dawns on Yoosung how much he likes falling asleep next to someone else. It feels... warm. And comforting. Even if he doesn't know what might happen when he wakes up, he wants to create a save slot right in this moment, so he can reload whenever something bad happens.

"I know I'm not the person you'd rather be cuddling with," Saeran whispers right by Yoosung’s ear.

Yoosung's shocked by the bluntness of the statement, and he can't quite figure out the tone of Saeran's voice.

"I l-like cuddling," he says, burying his face into his chest and ignoring the statement. Saeran smells... pleasant. Yoosung hadn't noticed before now. Saeran tenses, but otherwise has no response. This close, Yoosung can tell his breathing isn’t even.

"I believe you, you know. When you say you love that girl..." Like a revolving door conversation, Saeran keeps bringing up MC. The girl who died because of Yoosung.

"I..." Yoosung's about to say 'I do', but for some reason it feels... wrong. Insulting to her memory to be loved by someone so incompetent. So, he stops mid-sentence.

"I never got to meet her," he whispers.

"That doesn't matter, right? I saw the way you spoke to her in the chatroom."

Usually Yoosung is so quick to declare his love. What’s happening? Perhaps he can just chalk it up to the drugs flowing through his system. One shock isn’t enough to wear it away. Right? Or maybe it’s because Saeran finally said he believes Yoosung instead of throwing another fact in his face about why she couldn’t possibly love him. Is it because there's no one left to convince?

Or it’s because Yoosung doesn’t want to be reminded of what he did when he pressed the button in the car.

"It d-doesn't matter anyway. She's... I k-killed her,” he sobs, cheeks surprisingly dry. No tears, just unfiltered self-loathing.

"I tricked you." Saeran admits it all in one breath, then his grip on Yoosung tightens.  

"You... w-what?"

Saeran averts his eyes, looking ashamed.

"I really did rig that button to trigger the special security system in that apartment, but it didn't work."

Yoosung blinks. His brain is processing what that means, but everything is moving slowly right now.

"So... she's... she's alive?"

"I haven't seen her, but… yeah, I think." Saeran loosens his grip on Yoosung and starts moving his hands away. It’s clear he's waiting for Yoosung’s reaction and his face anticipates that it won’t be positive.

Yoosung barely knows what to say, and his mouth hangs open in a way that probably looks comical.

"I... I didn't... I didn't kill her?" he stammers. "I'm not a k-killer?"

"You never were."

Yoosung slams his hand over his mouth and feels a huge weight he hadn't even realised was there lift off his chest. He feels like he can finally breathe for the first time in days.

"Oh my God," he cries out, and tears start falling uncontrollably from his eyes. "Oh my God."

No, not crying. He's laughing. He's laughing with relief. She's not dead. Yoosung didn't kill her.

"Uhhh..." Saeran is legitimately speechless. This was clearly not the reaction he was expecting. Yoosung can’t conjure any beyond the pure joy that he saved her. He set out to Mint Eye for the sole purpose of protecting her, and he did it. He thought he had failed, Yoosung Kim, the perpetual failure… but now, he knows he did some good.

He did it.

Saeran retracts his arms and stares at Yoosung, an eyebrow raised and eyes wide.

Yoosung looks at Saeran, smiling properly for the first time in what feels like years.

"She's not dead, Saeran," he says. The words are like music to his ears. "She's not..." He trails off and a strange thought takes over. "She's not... dead," he says again, slowly this time. What is this? Did the drugs take hold of his emotions, again?

But what does that mean for his feelings? He loves her... right? He's here right now because he was trying to rescue her.

So, why does it feel so wrong to say he loves her?

Saeran attempts to return Yoosung’s smile, but it looks painted on. He quickly drops it. Why does Saeran look upset?

"She's not dead," he repeats, his voice even.

Saeran was laying on his side facing Yoosung up until that point, but now he opts to fall onto his back and stare at the ceiling.

Yoosung sits up, confused, and turns so he's looking down at Saeran.

"I feel relieved, but I don't feel... I don't..." What doesn't he feel? Love? No, he... he loves her. Of course he does. That's been the only thing keeping him going.

It strikes him how little he's actually been thinking of her these past few days, despite the fact that he should have been grieving over her death. But... all he feels right now is relief at not having to live with being a killer. There's nothing inside him that's desperately longing to go and see her, like how he felt four days ago. What does that mean?

"You don't what?"

Yoosung looks up at the wall, but he's just staring into space as his brain tries to process how he's supposed to be feeling versus how he's actually feeling.

"I don't feel the same," he says slowly and quietly. "I... I'm happy she's not dead, but I'm not... I'm not..." He pauses. What isn't he? "I don't feel the same," he ends up repeating, as though saying those words again would explain everything.

"It's probably the drugs.”

"Maybe..." Yoosung says quiety, agreeing despite not believing it. "I've barely even thought about her since I've been here."

"Really? Is that normal for someone in love?" Saeran sounds like he’s barely interested in the conversation, switching between staring at the wall and his chipping nail polish. Yoosung remembers that his own nails are still only half painted from when Saeran stopped halfway through.

"I don't... think so," he says. "I've... I've been thinking about my family a lot. And... and my friends. But... surely being in love with someone means you should think about them all the time?" He's so confused. His head is starting to hurt like needles digging into his temples.

"You still love her, Yoosung. You've just been busy dealing with me."

"Did I love her?" he whispers to himself. "I liked her. I... I did. I really liked her, but... but did I Iove her?" He's not particularly asking Saeran these questions. He's just trying to figure out what the fuck is happening in his head.

"You told her you did. Right before you came to me."

"She... she didn't say it back," he says. "I... I said it... I..." Oh God, he feels like his head might explode. "I never even met her. How can I love someone I only knew for just over a week, and I never even... I never saw her face."

Saeran actually makes eye contact with Yoosung, eyes completely neutral, mouth set in a frown that seems to be his normal expression.

"What are you saying?  You don't love her?"

"I... I don't think... I don't think I knew what love really was."

"That makes two of us," Saeran says with a sigh. For some reason, it reminds Yoosung of movies he used to watch with dark, misunderstood heroes. Yoosung doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't even know what to think.

"Why did you tell me she was dead?" he asks. He thinks he already knows the answer, but he wants to hear Saeran say it.

"I thought she was until I checked..." He responds, neglecting to mention what exactly he checked. "You aren't the first person I've done this to, Yoosung."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one week? Happy early Christmas. :3

Saeran doesn’t enjoy listening to Yoosung’s unfiltered thoughts. He doesn’t want to hear about how he’s questioning whether or not he’s in love, because Saeran is almost positive it’s all a lie. Whatever game Yoosung’s playing here, Saeran isn’t going to mosey along like a marionette tugged by its strings. 

"I... I know,” Yoosung says softly, like he’s just now remembering that Saeran makes kidnapping his business. “How many?”

"Does it matter?" Saeran says defensively.

Yoosung slowly lies down on the bed next to Saeran. 

"I just want to know," he whispers.

"A lot." He lowers his voice to match Yoosung’s.

"How long have you been doing this?" Yoosung just keeps asking fucking questions. At least this one is easier to answer. 

"Five years." He doesn’t know why he answers, but he does. 

God, why does Yoosung even care? How did the conversation get here? Saeran cards his fingers through white hair, nails scraping his scalp crossing the threshold between pleasure and  pain. 

Yoosung stares at him, perplexed, like he’s thinking about something. Guess a great thing about the drug is that Saeran can see all the thoughts on Yoosung’s face, like the text reel on a news report. 

"Five years? Um, how old are you?"

"Twenty one or twenty two... I can't remember when my birthday is."

Why is he even answering all of Yoosung’s questions anyway? What good does it do either of them to share like this?

Yoosung lets out a quiet gasp. Yeah, they’re close in age; maybe one year apart if Saeran’s estimate is correct. Right now, Yoosung’s face is saying ‘how can that be?’ Saeran adds in another thought: ‘this monster’s been doing this since he was a teenager.’ 

Please go. Saeran’s begging mentally. The only reason he isn’t using his words is because of his stupid pride. Instead of leaving, Yoosung doesn’t seem to get the fucking hint and he shuffles closer, hand hesitantly outstretched. The thought that he’s going to be touched reminds Saeran of his unworthiness. He tugs at his hair a little harder. No, no, no, please go away.

Then, Yoosung’s hand is on him and it sends a shiver down his spine. Saeran tenses, trying to conjure some magic spell from willpower alone to disappear. Yoosung’s fingers stroke through his hair, starting at the base of his spine and sliding up the nape of his neck. 

Neither of them are speaking, aside from the small “oh” Saeran murmurs. He stops scratching his scalp in favour of what Yoosung’s doing. Yoosung’s touch is making it hard for him to breathe. His heart is beating so fast. It’s starting to feel like a strained muscle, like the next harsh pump will shatter his rib cage. 

"Ah, wh-wh-what are you..." He mumbles out a half complete sentence.

"I... I want to help," Yoosung says, and his hand stops moving, but he doesn't take it away. "Do you... want me to stop?"

"Umm," Saeran’s chest hurts. Despite the pain, it’s been so long since he’s received a gentle touch. Before it was just him, touching the Saviour’s hair. She rarely reciprocated. It’s turning his limbs to jelly. "No."

Yoosung immediately starts moving his fingers through Saeran's hair again gently. 

"Your hair is softer than I thought it would be,” Yoosung says, the effects of the drug pulling information from his lips Saeran was sure he’d never hear.

Saeran turns to lay flat on his back and make eye contact with Yoosung.

"I usually condition it more than this," he says,  "I like when it's softer."

They talk about hair colour. Yoosung offers up information about himself: how he dyed his hair after high school, how he thought it’d help him gather women’s attention. It seemed to be a big flop, aside from his mother who immediately noticed and disapproved. Brown is such a boring colour; there’s no way anyone would notice him if he looked the same as everyone else. 

Yoosung wants to know what Saeran’s hair colour used to be, it couldn’t be naturally white. Oh well, he supposes it could, because Zen’s natural hair colour is white, but he’s an exception. 

Saeran can’t help the beginnings of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Yoosung just says whatever is on his mind. Drugs or not, this feels like a truer version of Yoosung than Saeran’s ever seen. In person, anyway.

However, there’s absolutely no way he’s mentioning his true hair colour; that’s a route that leads directly to another naturally sourced redhead who happens to be the RFA’s hacker/trickster.

"It doesn't matter," Saeran responds coolly. "I haven't seen it in many years."

"Hmm, I bet it suits you," Yoosung says, unperturbed.

“The brown suited you… blonde does, too,” Saeran responds, shifting the attention away from himself.

“How do you know?”

“I saw you before you dyed your hair." Saeran lifts his hand up and pats the back of Yoosung’s that's now immobile in his hair. His scalp is tingling, skin set alight with a different type of nerves. This isn’t anxiety, this is... something else. "Are you going to keep moving your hand?"

“Sorry." Apparently Yoosung hadn't realised he'd stopped, so he starts moving it again, running his fingers through his hair slowly. "Yeah... I guess you probably saw the photos, huh."

"You said you wanted it to help you get a girlfriend?"

Yoosung gives him another small smile.

"Yeah, I guess that's why I bleached it." It sounds like he’s holding something back, but Saeran doesn’t care to press it. He recognizes that particular shade of blonde; it matches a woman extremely important in both their lives.

"I've been watching the RFA for a long time.” She gave him the task of understanding the members as much as she did, and then inducting them. Saeran dedicated himself to this Mission. 

Yoosung’s beautiful smile wavers, a flicker of unease in those purple eyes.

"Yeah... yeah, it sounds like it." Yoosung sighs. "You know, I always thought Seven was the best hacker in Korea, but if you managed to get into the chat that many times without him even realising… Guess he wasn't as good as he thought." The last line is punctuated by a small laugh. 

Saeran visibly twitches when Yoosung mentions Luciel. He quickly composes himself. They’ve been talking about hair all this time that Saeran is painfully aware of Yoosung’s bangs, including the way he swats them out of eyesight only for them to promptly fall back over his eyes. So, Saeran takes the liberty of moving them, returning the gentle touch that he’s been receiving.

"You haven't put in your hair clips since the first day," Saeran says, changing the subject. "It keeps falling into your face."

Yoosung blinks in surprise.

"Oh... uh... I don't remember where I put them," he says, furrowing his eyebrows. "I took them out, and... I... I must have dropped them?" Yoosung had seemed so normal during the conversation, he forgot he was drugged. Now, the effects are more obvious when he tries to remember where he left his hairclips. Saeran answers instead, just because he understands that Yoosung isn’t going to remember. Not right now.

"They're in the bathroom. I saw them earlier," Saeran continues to fruitlessly push Yoosung’s hair out of his face, comforting himself with the idea that Yoosung is leaning into the touch. 

"Oh... okay, I can... I can put them back in tomorrow.” Then, the unthinkable happens, this next swipe of Saeran’s fingers has Yoosung fully leaning into his touch, cheek cradled in the palm of his hand. Saeran’s breath catches.

Oh.

Oh wow.

"Everything about you… you’re good, Yoosung.” Saeran could swear that he’s under the effects of some type of drug. There’s no reason for him to be this truthful. “You’re… fuck, you’re more than good. I like you.” 

Yoosung blinks at him in surprise. The awestruck look blossoms into warmth inside Saeran's chest, enough warmth to feed a seedling of hope.

"R-really?" he whispers breathlessly. 

There’s inches of distance between their bodies, heads cradled by the pillow, bodies formed into the weirdly plush mattress. For a place this old and abandoned, the bed is oddly nice. They create a small dip laying this close together. It’s easy for both of them to shuffle slightly, move just enough that gravity pulls them together. 

"I... you’re…" Yoosung says, and he rests one of his hands gently on Saeran's hip. “I like this side of you.”

Saeran frowns. This wasn’t part of the plan. This feel good moment, this warmth in his chest. He tries to locate something to say that’ll break the tension. Maybe it’ll move Yoosung away. Saeran can’t. He’s held steadfast, like magnets drawn to each other.

"I've inducted forty people," Saeran blurts, truly self sabotaging until the end. "You asked, right?"

The gentle mood is effectively shattered, punctuated by the way Yoosung gulps, like he momentarily forgot how dangerous Saeran truly is.

"I... that's... that's a lot. Did you... like all of them?"

Huh. That’s a weird question.

"No. I didn't give a shit about any of them," Saeran responds.

Yoosung bites his lip in thought, finally fully aware that he doesn’t have to say everything that immediately comes to his mind. 

"I just... I thought if you spent so much time with them, you just... you'd end up liking them? Isn't that... what happened with me?"

Saeran furrows his brow and frowns.

"What? No. I don't... I don't like people just because I spent time with them. It was my job to break them." 

Does Yoosung think Saeran just forms bonds with everyone he captured? Saeran shouldn't feel hurt by the idea. There are plenty of ideas Yoosung should be having about him that hurt plenty more. However, it does, and he can’t stop it because whatever he feels for Yoosung is special. The thought of feeling that way about another person feels wrong.

"Then... why do you... why do you like me?"

"Because you're different. You don't hate me, and..." Saeran sucks in a deep breath. He can't explain how he's feeling succinctly enough for words, but he tries anyway. "You care about me. No one else has done that."

"I hate that," he says quietly, gritting his teeth. "I hate that no one else has cared about you. It's... you deserve better than that."

"No, I don't, Yoosung." Saeran gives into this magnetic pull, wraps his arms around Yoosung’s waist and runs his fingers up the trace of Yoosung’s spine,  slowly. "You're the only person I've done this with besides…” he finishes that sentence with a sigh instead of a word. “No one wants to touch me unless it's to fuck."

Yoosung shivers under the touch.

"I still think you deserve better," he whispers. "You... you deserve to be loved."

"Why do you keep saying that? I've done lots of bad things. You heard when I said I took forty people, right?"

"But... maybe if... if someone loved you... you would have stopped." 

"I still have a mission, Yoosung." Saeran lifts the hem of the borrowed red shirt Yoosung is wearing. "C-can I touch your skin?"

"M-my...?" Yoosung squeaks. "Y-yeah, okay." The confusion is evident in his voice.

"Do you not want...? I won't if you don't want me to."

"N-no! I do," he says quickly. "Please."

"Okay," Saeran smiles hesitantly and lifts Yoosung’s shirt slightly, so his midriff is exposed. He almost forgot the pants don’t zip up for Yoosung, and he can feel all the way down below the dip of his tummy. Saeran thinks unsavoury thoughts, hears the Unknown side of him whisper disgusting things. He shakes the thoughts off like pollen on his clothing, scattering into the air. There’s no need to be that person right now. Instead, Saeran gently trails his fingers along Yoosung’s back and hips. "Your skin is so smooth. You don't have any scars."

Yoosung visibly shivers. Saeran can feel skin quivering beneath the pads of his fingers. This is so unlike Saeran’s skin, riddled with scars and burns, not like his fingers, calloused and worn.

"I... no. I don't.”

"I wish my skin felt this good." Saeran becomes emboldened by the way Yoosung sighs pleasantly at his touches. It's not sexual, but he's savouring the feeling. He wants to continue indulging in this warmth and comforting ache in his chest.

"Can... can I touch yours?" Yoosung breathes.

"It's not as nice," Saeran says, suddenly feeling self conscious. He never cared about showing his body off before but the idea of Yoosung touching his skin right now makes Saeran feel weirdly ashamed. "If you want to..."

Yoosung slowly slides his hand down a little and catches the hem of Saeran’s shirt between his fingers. A warm, hesitant hand rests his hand on Saeran’s waist briefly. The air in the room is entirely still, only broken by the staggering sound of their own heartbeats thumping between them.

Yoosung’s just staring at him with a vacant gaze as his mind focuses elsewhere. And Saeran is returning that stare, but ... There's something indecipherable in Yoosung’s eyes right now, and he's not sure what he's thinking. Saeran gulps nervously.

"Do I… feel okay?"

Yoosung’s thumb traces a prominent scar on Saeran’s hip bone. That scar was from his mother. She used to stomp around the house, angrily searching for him, and in his escape he bumped right into the edges of a low coffee table, the corner scratching deep into his skin. 

"You feel... good," he whispers. "Is this okay?"

Yoosung’s hand slides to Saeran’s back, tracing disjointed marks like a constellation.

"Yes," Saeran shivers. Yoosung’s hands are as soft as his skin, and his touch is so light. No one's ever touched him like this before. "I don't feel gross?"

His back was where the worst of his scars are located; from shattered wine bottles to whips, all those memories exist there on his skin.

"No, of course not," Yoosung says quietly. He runs his fingers up Saeran's back, sucking in gasps every so often at a particularly bad scar. "Doing this just... it makes me want to help you even more."

Saeran closes the the tiny gap between their bodies and leans down to hide his face in Yoosung’s shoulder. With his eyes closed, he can really focus on the way Yoosung’s touching him and he can breath in his wonderful smell.  

"I'm scared."

Yoosung picks up a steady rhythm with his hand, stroking Saeran's back up and down gently.

"Why?" he whispers right into his ear.

Lots of reasons. He’s terrified of Yoosung, of what the Saviour will do when she finds out how they touched each other, of what will happen in the next few days, of what happens when Luciel ultimately wins this duel they’re engaged in.

Of losing Yoosung. 

"Times like this are good, but in the morning I'll... be different, again." Saeran can feel when Yoosung’s fingers find a particularly nasty welt with knotted, scarred skin, but he never feels Yoosung flinch or avoid them. That in itself makes Saeran feel like he's being overwhelmed with emotion; he doesn't have a strong concept of happiness, but when he examines it closely, it feels bright and warm. He classifies this feeling in his brain as happy. How wonderful it is to have a definition that isn't corrupted by his twisted pleasures.

"I... I know," Yoosung says quietly. "But... that doesn't make times like this any less... real." 

Saeran starts moving his hands again, further up Yoosung’s back, between his shoulder blades and then down his sides and over the curve of his stomach. It feels so good and Yoosung’s skin is so warm, it feels like he's being scorched. He wonders for a moment if this is outside the realm of his duties; he was never warned not to befriend Yoosung... That's what this is, right? 

"Yoosung, are you my friend?"

Yoosung pauses to think for a moment. This is where it ends. Saeran’s sure he’s shattered whatever moment they were building here.

"I want to be," Yoosung whispers.

Saeran hasn't had contact with the Saviour since he failed his mission, but it was always his intention to hold onto Yoosung until he could reliably transport him to Paradise. The recruitment process is varied, so he's had people with him a number of months before he's successfully inducted them, but never has he had no contact with Mint Eye, and... never has he felt so strongly about the person he's taken.

"Me too."

He doesn't want to give Yoosung up, and he's not sure what that means just yet. Could he trust himself to give Yoosung to the Saviour? She had a particular interest in him, after all... it's not like she'd allow Saeran to keep him.

Whatever this is, it's all temporary anyway. 

"We won't be together forever," Saeran breathes,

"Why can't we be?" he asks quietly, still running his fingers gently across Saeran's skin, like a conductor at the orchestra, weaving sweet music with his touch, his words. "Why can't... why can't we stay like this? If... if I'm going to this... to this Paradise, I want you to come too. It doesn't have to hurt."

Saeran wants to believe that Yoosung truly wants this, that he isn’t baiting him into letting his guard down.

"I'm not allowed in Paradise. I just bring people there..." Saeran feels hyper aware of Yoosung’s fingers on his back, and he wants to melt into this feeling. He can’t, though, and just being cognizant of the fact that this will end, he involuntarily tenses. 

This is all temporary anyway, so why is he allowing Yoosung to fluster him and touch him? Why on earth is Saeran trying to befriend him?

The previous warm and bright feeling now feels sour.

Yoosung  seems to notice this, so he speaks, as if to grapple the gentle side of Saeran before it slips through his fingers like smoke.

"Then I don't want to go," Yoosung says firmly. "I want... I want to stay here."

"We can't stay here forever." Saeran mutters because he doesn't trust his voice. There are two sides warring within him and he's forced to acknowledge that he no longer wants to take Yoosung to Paradise... but he has nothing besides this Mission, and without it they're just stagnant. There’s no reason for them to even be here. No reason for Saeran to have even taken Yoosung. That thought panics him more than being close to Yoosung because without orders or duties or missions - Saeran has absolutely nothing.

"Saeran," Yoosung says softly, his words dripping with desperation. "I don't want to leave you. I... I promised you I'd stay."

“You don't understand." Saeran can feel his bottom lip start to wobble and his face screw up from heart-wrenching pain, "If I have no Mission, I can finally die."

It used to be what he was working towards this entire time: destroying Luciel and inducting the RFA, and then he'd just... disappear. He was looking forward to it until he met Yoosung and now he feels conflicted because a part of him no longer wants to complete his mission. Does that mean he no longer wants to die, too? Saeran doesn't know.

"I don't want you to die," he whispers. "I... I really don't want you to d-die."

"If I d-die... you c-can go back to your life. I won't h-have to take you to Paradise," Saeran offers between sobs. He can't even reign in the emotion he's feeling if he tried. "You... you can go back to MC and a-actually l-love her." 

Saeran is just in the way, imposing his and his Saviour’s will on people. That's always the way it's been. It's better if he disappears.

Yoosung pulls Saeran's head and cradles it against his chest. 

"No, I... I don't love her. I d-don't... I don't want you to die. I don't w-want to leave you. P-please, Saeran, I..." Yoosung can't finish. He doesn't know what else to say. He buries his face into Saeran's hair and keeps his hand pressed against his back.

Saeran is so close to Yoosung’s chest that he can hear the rapid thump of his heartbeat and briefly wonders if it mimics his own. Saeran feels like his limbs have gone completely numb and he's still panicked but it's different. Everything with Yoosung is different.

When Yoosung says his name, it's soft and laced with affection and it makes Saeran feel connected to the person he used to be before life corrupted him.

"Why? Why do you say my name like that?" his words are muffled in Yoosung’s chest.

"Because... I… um, h-how... how do I say it?"

"You say it like he used to," Saeran explains shyly.

When was the last time Saeran ever felt loved? By his brother, of course... before he was abandoned. This is the only way he can explain the tone he hears in Yoosung’s voice because he has no other way to explain it... it just reminds him of a time when someone cared.

"Who?" Yoosung says softly before he realises. "Your... your brother?"

"Yeah," Saeran says. He seems to have forgotten his hands on Yoosung’s skin during that discussion, so he slowly starts moving them again, savouring its softness. "I want to touch you forever."

Saeran has never felt anything like this so intensely. He's intimately familiar with anger, hatred, and jealousy, but whatever he's feeling now doesn't fall into those categories. He just knows he's never felt this before.

"You can," he whispers. "I want it too."

"Can..." there's a memory replaying in Saeran’s brain, but it's fuzzy and unclear. "Um, c-can you..." He remembers a soothing voice, a hand in his, and a gentle touch. "Yoosung, I want..." He remembers being rocked back and forth on a wooden chair, and his brothers sleeping face. He remembers a woman's voice - before she even began touching alcohol. "Yoosung, can you sing me a lullaby?"

Yoosung's hand freezes momentarily. 

"A... a lullaby?" he says softly as he resumes stroking Saeran's back. "Just... just... any lullaby?"

"Any lullaby." Saeran nuzzles his cheek on Yoosung’s chest and closes his eyes. "I want to listen when I fall asleep, and... your voice sounds so nice."

"O-okay, but I... I can't promise I'll be any good…” Yoosung pauses, takes in a deep breath. “Good night my baby, the birds and baby lamb are sleeping~" He strokes his fingers slowly through Saeran's hair and runs his fingers up and down his back. "On your front yard. The moon is singing you to sleep. Good night my baby~"

It isn't the one from his memories, but it's just as soothing. Everything about it is soothing and warm and wholesome. It bothers Saeran that he couldn't experience this more often growing up, but he's so appreciative that he can experience it now.

His fingers eventually stop moving on Yoosung’s skin as he drifts between reality and resurfaced memories towards sleep. This is the second time in his life he's fallen asleep somewhere he wanted to be, and he briefly connects the commonality between this night and last: Yoosung.

Outside or inside, just being beside Yoosung was where he wanted to be. Saeran didn't even want to be close to the Saviour as desperately as he wanted to be close to Yoosung.

What does that mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love, guys. It's really inspiring seeing how much you enjoy the story. 
> 
> Make sure to check out other fics by Blackprose and Ely for more stellar content.


	13. Chapter 13

Saeran's fingers stop moving while Yoosung's singing the lullaby for the second time. Yoosung keeps moving his own fingers through Saeran's hair and gently over his back. Saeran’s scarred. It doesn’t explain everything about the way he acts, but it adds context. Yoosung can’t even fathom what Saeran’s been through.

He breathes in Saeran's scent. It’s earthy but sweet, like the combined smell of a flower and freshly cut grass. It soothes him. He should question why, but it's not too long before he feels his eyes drop shut and he drifts into a warm, comforting sleep.

He wishes moments like this could last forever. Yoosung holds onto the hope that a moment like this will come again. It has to. This is the real Saeran. This is the Saeran he genuinely and completely cares about.

He doesn't fully understand what that means yet, but all he knows is that he meant it when he said he didn't want to leave him. He never wants to leave him.

Maybe he’ll regret thinking it later, but for now Yoosung wants to stay close to him like this.

***

When Yoosung's suddenly jolted awake, pushed by a set of arms into tumbling off the bed, he’s dazed.

"Wh-what...?" he mumbles sleepily. He rubs his eyes.

"Don't ever fucking touch me again." Saeran sneers over the edge of the bed, wiping at his clothes as if there was residue left on him from Yoosung's touch.

The way he’s talking, the cold look in his eyes, the downward set to his mouth…

Oh... oh God. Saeran's gone back to...

"I'm sorry," Yoosung says, voice still thick with sleep as he pushes himself up into a sitting position.

"Are you?" Saeran accuses incredulously, "Because it never fucking stops you."

"I... I..." God, why won't his brain wake up? "I thought you... I thought y-you wanted to, but I... I'm sorry."

Saeran pauses as his eyes glaze with memories and the frown on his face warps into a full-blown scowl.

"You thought wrong!" Saeran screams, voice crackly first thing in the morning. It makes Yoosung flinch. "I don't want to see your fucking face right now!" He points to the door. "Get out, get out, get out!"

Yoosung's brain is more fuzzy than it usually is in the mornings, and he doesn't know why. Did he not sleep properly? He's awake enough for Saeran's words to hurt.

"O-okay," he stammers. He knows it's probably best not to argue, especially when he's too groggy to think straight. He swings his legs round the side of the bed and pushes himself to his feet. He sways a little as he stumbles over to the door, glancing over his shoulder for a moment at Saeran before leaving the room. Where is he supposed to go? Honestly, he just... he just wants to go back to sleep. Everything’s easier when he isn’t awake to deal with it.

Yoosung ends up stumbling into the bathroom. He hasn't been to the toilet in... how long? He can't remember, but he hasn't been eating or drinking much, so he supposes it makes sense. He unbuttons the trousers and has no choice but to peel them halfway down his thighs. They're far too tight for him, and he doesn't want to accidentally pee on them.

Once he finishes, he manages to pull them up again, but he leaves the button undone because he already has indents on his skin from where they dug into him. He runs his hands under the water from the tap, wishing for soap. This place is kind of slimy. Despite showering yesterday, he feels so dirty.

He splashes water on his face to try and wake himself up, but all it does is shock his body and make him start shivering.

He doesn't know what he's supposed to do around Saeran when he's like this. Last night was a genuinely good night. It wasn't just an okay night after a string of bad ones. It was actually good. He... he likes cuddling with Saeran, and now he can't imagine ever sleeping alone again. Yoosung’s cuddled with stuffed animals, but this isn’t the same thing. When there’s another body beside him it’s completely different.

It’s… intimate.

Is this bad? Yoosung's heard stories about kidnapped people falling in love with their kidnapper. Yoosung isn't in love with Saeran... he's... no, he just... he cares for him. Stupidly. Saeran’s hurt him. He’s… done things to Yoosung. Still, after last night, there’s no way Yoosung can only see Saeran as a criminal or kidnapper. Things aren’t that black and white anymore.

Yoosung wonders if he's turning into the people in those stories, but this feels different. He knows Saeran is a good person. He's just... troubled. Broken. Yoosung knows he can't completely fix him by himself. Even so, he wants to help as best as he can.

He leans heavily against the sink. He doesn't know what the day will bring, but maybe, just maybe, the thought of spending another night with the Saeran he's come to care for so much will help him through it.

***

Yoosung doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what time it is. Is it time for food? Maybe. He has nothing better to do, anyway.

He heads to the kitchen and looks through the cupboards. There isn't really much food left at all. There’s a bunch of canned items; a mismatched assortment, like someone cleared out the discount basket at the local supermarket. Maybe he can figure something out. It's better than standing by the bathroom sink doing nothing but thinking.

If Saeran were really angry today, wouldn't he have hurt him by now? Wouldn't he have given him that weird drug? Yoosung looks down at the bruise on his arm and swallows. He loses such a huge chunk of his day to whatever that injection does. It makes him feel so empty.

His mind flicks back to yesterday and what Saeran had suggested to 'make things interesting.' He feels his throat clench at how close he was to just letting it happen. He wonders if Saeran would have kept going if Yoosung didn’t snap out of it. He wants to think he would have stopped, but after before, he's honestly not sure.

More importantly, Saeran asked Yoosung's permission to touch his skin last night. Why would he ask for that of all things? Saeran's priorities and morals are skewed. Yoosung wonders how he was raised to be this radically different.

Yoosung shakes his head as he feels tears in his eyes. He really doesn't want to think about that… that incident and start crying. His eyes feel red and raw from how much he's cried already over the past few days, so he turns back to the simple stir fry he's making.

That is, if Yoosung can even call it a stir fry. Honestly, it’s just the contents of three random cans dumped into one pot and cooked. Oh. Lost in his thoughts, it appears that the food is now a little overcooked. Whatever.

He dumps it on two plates. It reminds him of the meal they had last night. The pasta on the bed. Everything about that memory feels fuzzy, like he’s viewing the inside of a snow globe without any glitter. Everything’s distorted. Probably the drugs.

He carries the plates, and stands hidden by the doorless entrance to the bedroom.

"Saeran?" he calls softly. "I... I made food."

A long pause.

"Okay."

Saeran's acting strange. He's not angry (or he doesn't seem to be, at least,) but he's also not animated. Even his voice sounds lifeless. Yoosung carefully walks over to the bed, but he doesn't sit down. Now that his mind is slowly starting to kick itself into gear properly, he can feel the dull ache in his heart that gets stronger when Saeran brushes him off.

He holds out the plate for Saeran to take without saying anything. He doesn't know what to say. What can he possibly do to make things better?

Saeran stares at Yoosung and then he lazily turns his eyes towards the bowl. Yoosung waves the bowl, encouraging Saeran to grab it, but he just lays there, occasionally jerking like he’s about to move or grab the food before abruptly halting his actions. Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe he’s debating whether or not to hurt Yoosung. That means this is progress, right?

Yoosung feels a pang in his heart when Saeran flips over on the bed, facing away. Yoosung opens his mouth and closes it again. Something like this shouldn’t hurt. Rejection, even something as simple as this, still hurts, though. Everything emotional has hurt since Rika died.

"Okay... um... I'll just... I'll leave this here," he says quietly, placing the bowl down on the bed. Hopefully Saeran doesn't roll over too far and spill it. Yoosung stands there for a few more moments, enduring the awkward silence, before turning to leave the room. He sits down on the kitchen floor and starts eating, feeling strangely empty even though he hasn't been injected today.

It isn’t until he finishes half his bowl in silence that he hears a scream accompanied by a loud smash, something shattering against the other side of the kitchen wall. Yoosung almost drops his bowl in shock as he hears the sudden noises coming from the bedroom. He barely hesitates before he scrambles to his feet, puts the half-finished food to the side and, against his better judgement, rushes to the bedroom.

Now that he's standing in the doorframe, in hindsight he realises he shouldn't have come here. Saeran’s standing there, staring at what remains of the plate of food and the smear on the wall that had to be the primarily bean stir fry he just cooked.

The scream most likely means Saeran's angry, but... for some reason, his instant reaction was to make sure he wasn't in any pain. He locks eyes with Saeran for a split second before backing away back out the room.

"S-sorry... I'll just..." His eyes flick to the side, searching for an excuse, but he can't think of anything.

"God, I hate seeing your fucking face, you know that?" Spry and energetic, Saeran crosses the threshold between them in a few quick strides. His hands encircle the collar around Yoosung’s neck. "Where's your leash?"

There’s something inhuman in his mint eyes. Yoosung instinctively takes a step back as he feels fear start shooting through him.

"I... I d-don't know."

"Then fucking find it,” Saeran seethes through clenched teeth.

Yoosung blinks, trying to step back, but is held immobile by the way Saeran’s hand hovers around his neck.

"I... y-you took it... I d-don't know where it is..."

Saeran reaches up and runs one of his hands through Yoosung’s soft hair, eliciting a shiver out  of Yoosung, before he roughly yanks Yoosung’s head to one side. His lips ghost against Yoosung’s pulse. His tongue darts out, tracing a line all the way up Yoosung’s cheek.

"Fucking find it, or... or else." He shakes Yoosung’s head once before letting go and stomping out of the bedroom.

Yoosung doesn't want to find it, but he has no idea what Saeran will do if he doesn't. He stands there for a few moments, leaning against the wall and trying to calm his racing heart. He’s proud of himself that he didn’t immediately burst into tears this time.

He doesn’t have time to even consider what this means. He’s probably getting used to being treated like… like he isn’t human.

What if he just tells Saeran he couldn't find the leash? He has no real way of knowing where it is, right? Yoosung goes into the bathroom and scans the room. He doesn't see the leash, but he does see his hair clips, which he picks up and looks at for a moment. Maybe he should put them back in. It’ll help him feel normal again. He slides them into his hair as best as he can without a mirror, and keeps looking half-heartedly.

Maybe Saeran will snap out of it before he has a chance to get really angry. Yoosung tiptoes around the house, unsure what exactly will trigger Saeran into looking at him. That isn’t the kind of attention Yoosung wants.

Yoosung heads to the kitchen and slowly looks for the leash, dragging his feet and hoping against hope he doesn't find it.

Well, the leash isn't in the kitchen. He didn't see it in the bedroom. He couldn't find it in the bathroom. The only other room is the one Saeran's in, so if it were in there, he would have probably put it on Yoosung by now.

He stands round the corner of the doorframe so he can't see him. The only other place it could be is outside, but... Yoosung isn't sure how Saeran would react to him going out there by himself. He heads back to the bathroom and searches in there one more time, but it's useless. He can't stall for much longer.

He goes to the unfurnished living room Saeran's in and swallows nervously as he stands just outside, looking at him through the door frame as he taps on his laptop. Saeran seems focused. Maybe it isn’t the best idea to interrupt him. Instead, he stands in the doorway, eyes darting between Saeran’s focused face and the floor.

"I... I can't find it," he murmurs under his breath. This feels like when he was a kid and had to tell his mother he didn’t do the chores.

"Isn't that something,” Saeran mutters, voice even. No real reaction then.

Yoosung's heart aches a little at how uninterested Saeran sounds. That's... that's not the Saeran he wants to see. He seems so absorbed in whatever he's doing on his laptop. He inches in a little closer. He’s seen Saeran absorbed on his laptop plenty of times, but doesn’t really know what he’s doing.

Yoosung is used to losing time online, especially playing games like LOLOL, but the way Saeran’s typing… well, it’s a lot less clicking than for LOLOL. Or any game in fact. Kind of looks like he’s chatting with someone through some type of messenger and-

Oh.

Yoosung glances at the laptop and a thought suddenly strikes him. It's out of his mouth before he can stop it.

"Is that the RFA chat?"

The clack of the keyboard abruptly stops.

"Yes." He answers, but it's more a test than anything. Yoosung can hear the way Saeran’s testing him, like he’s baiting a bunny rabbit to step into his trap.

Yoosung feels his breath catch in his throat, and he's suddenly extremely aware that he's so close to the laptop where he could just... see...

"What are they talking about?" he asks. He just wants some kind of connection to his old life, to his friends. He doesn't really expect Saeran to answer, but right now he doesn't seem angry so much as bored.

"How glad they are you're gone," Saeran fires back, turning his laptop screen away from Yoosung.

"Really?" he says in a small voice.

"Jesus Christ, Yoosung, can't you tell that I hate seeing your fucking face?" As if to demonstrate that point, Saeran avoids eye contact. Yoosung blinks at him and swallows, trying not to cry as he looks down at the floor. Why are Saeran's words hurting him so much?

"I think the leash is outside," he says quietly.

"Okay."

Yoosung fidgets with his hands in front of him. He suddenly feels incredibly small and insignificant.

"Should I go and get it?"

"Just do whatever the fuck you want,” Saeran huffs.

"Okay. I... um... I'll..." He doesn't bother finishing the sentence as he turns around and walks out of the room, his head hanging low. Should he go outside? Is this just a test? Is Saeran just playing another game with him? Yoosung gulps and fingers the collar around his neck, uncomfortable and starting to chafe.

His pet. That’s what Saeran says he is.

A small piece of Yoosung had hoped that after last night he’d be a little more than that.

Yoosung doesn't want to get the leash, and Saeran didn't seem to care anymore anyway, so he just goes back to the bedroom. It smells like them, like the intermingling of two scents that’s weirdly harmonious.

When he lies on the bed on his back and closes his eyes he can pretend he never woke up, and that the person who was nice to him is still lying next to him.

The tears are leaking down both sides of his face. He doesn't know why he's so torn up about all this. Saeran isn't hurting him, so why isn't he taking the opportunity to leave?

His feet still ache. He can walk, but running is probably out of the question. Saeran had brought him here with a gun. Yoosung has no idea where that is now and… God, he’s so stupid. He’s stupid and naïve for believing some soft words.  

Despite not being physically abusive, Saeran is still hurting him. This is just in a different way. Yoosung can't stop thinking about last night, and how Saeran's skin felt beneath his fingers, and how soft his hair was, and how he fell asleep with his face buried in Yoosung's chest with Yoosung singing to him.

Where did that Saeran go? He has to be in there somewhere.

He probably isn't trying hard enough, but right now his heart aches too much to do anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is still enjoying the story. Please check out other fics written by me (Blackprose) if you're interested in more yooran or some yooseven.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think of this as a holiday gift :3 *wiggles eyebrows devilishly*

Unknown is sick of seeing that giant red skull dominating his screen, but it's to be expected after he spent so little time on upkeep yesterday. He has no idea if Luciel’s detected a presence lurking near the backdoor of the chatroom. Hopefully, he's distracted by his goal: hacking into Unknown’s laptop.

It’s not a good laptop. It was the top of the line when it was first purchased, but it’s been through too many missions. There’s no way it’ll keep up with whatever rig Luciel’s working with; even if it was brand new, it would be at a disadvantage anyway. Laptops can't compare to well built PC's. It's only a matter of time before their location is compromised.

The RFA is talking about Yoosung. Unknown didn’t lie about that part, but what he did lie about was the content. The RFA has made quite a bit of progress. They’ve connected the kidnapping directly to Mint Eye, even though Unknown worked hard to make sure it looked as independent as possible, even going so far as to dismiss all the members to a safer location. 

They’ve also got some scarily accurate predictions about the Saviour. Seven’s starting to track estates and holdings under Rika’s name. That’s problematic, considering this location, the castle, and all Mint Eye’s other hideaways were purchased before Rika disappeared. 

So, when Yoosung shows up in the doorway, puppy eyes big as he inches close, Unknown’s first instinct is to lie. 

“What are they talking about?” Yoosung asks in that perfectly soft voice of his.

“How glad they are you’re gone,” Unknown retorts almost instantly. 

Honestly, he’d say anything for Yoosung to just go the fuck away right now. Unknown is still feeling slimy from last night. It was much too gentle and loving for his taste. 

***

When Unknown enters the bedroom, he finds Yoosung laying on the bed, not doing much of anything. His eyes are closed, brows furrowed like he’s trying to solve a complex math problem in his head. Unknown’s eyes wander over Yoosung’s face; they follow the curve of his cheeks, still chubby and youthful, before taking in plump lips and moving down his neck to the collar. There’s a twisted type of pride seeing that Yoosung’s still wearing it despite how painful it looks. It makes Unknown feel truly in control.

He fingers the injection held behind his back, the smooth, cool glass syringe; the final injection. It’s a waste to give it to someone who doesn’t want it; it’s far better off being bestowed upon someone worthy, like Saeran, but that wasn’t the order. 

If Unknown wasn’t so soft, he wouldn’t have needed to inject himself at all.

He starts to tiptoe towards the bed. That's when he smells food. It isn't fresh, either; it smells like it's been sitting out for a few hours. He notices the bowl he smashed is still sitting on the ground in a mushy lump with the stir fry. 

Unknown carefully slides the needle into his back pocket and hooks his camera onto a belt loop. His fingers pad over the plush comforter, edging towards Yoosung until he can wrap his fingers around one ankle and tug. 

Unknown isn’t as strong as he usually is, probably because he’s going without full doses. He barely manages to half drag his pet off the bed, but Yoosung still looks terrified.

"I thought I told you to make yourself useful," Unknown growls. 

"I-I... I didn’t know what to do.”

Without a leash, Unknown is forced to grab the hook on the front of the collar, and he begins pulling Yoosung toward the mess on the floor like a bad dog who needed to be punished. His strength is failing him, though, as his arms struggle and eventually slacken, unable to pull Yoosung towards the mess on the floor.

His muscles feel like sinewy tendon, ready to slice apart at the first sign of resistance. He feels weak. He hates feeling weak. 

Angrier than usual, he tangles his bony fingers in blonde hair and shoves Yoosung’s face down onto the floor, using his body weight as his strength. 

This is pathetic. Yoosung could easily overpower him.

"Stay," he commands, before stepping away to grab his camera. Unknown holds it up, capturing a few photographs of Yoosung. There’s a good chance Luciel will get into his computer, and if he does, Unknown wants to ensure that there is enough for him to search through. Something tells him that Luciel would waste a lot of time on photographs of Yoosung, and maybe even more so if he were in pain. That’s why he grabbed the camera at the same time as the injection. Unknown wants to catch the way he cries.  

Everything he shoots tonight, he'll transfer to his laptop so Luciel can discover it.

"Wh-what are you d-doing?"

"Creating memories," Unknown responds with a hollow laugh. "I can't wait to share with your friends."

Yoosung remains silent. He pushes himself onto all fours and stares at Unknown. There’s something shimmering behind his gaze, almost like he’s testing Unknown to send photos, almost like it isn’t embarrassing. Unknown can’t glean any possible reason for this, so he bares his teeth like a predator.

"Shut up, just clean up the mess before I make you eat it," he threatens, even though Yoosung hasn’t spoken. He wants him to stop looking at him with that omniscient gaze. Yoosung understands nothing.

His pet pushes himself to his feet and goes to the kitchen to grab the dustpan and broom. It won’t be effective to clean this congealed sludge that was once food, but it’s all they have, and both of them know it. 

Saeran watches as he cleans. His flexes his hands, considers slapping Yoosung right on the ass as he cleans, considers making him feel like a piece of meat instead of a person, but…

For reasons unknown to him, his mood sours at the thought. So, he just watches with a scowl on his face. It seems to be enough to frighten Yoosung into silent compliance.

When the floor is as clean as it’ll ever be without soap, Yoosung returns, head hung low, rubbing one arm.

“Um, I’m done,” Yoosung says in a soft voice, like he’s expecting praise. 

“Come here,” Saeran orders, patting the bed. Saeran’s been half leaning on it all this time, conscious not to sit lest he nudge the needle in his pocket out of place. 

“Why?” Yoosung asks immediately. They make eye contact and he flinches like a little bunny rabbit, eyes wide. 

"Because I want to be near you.” It isn’t entirely a lie, but Saeran regrets saying it all the same when he sees something bright spark in Yoosung’s eyes. Hope. Fuck. He’s going to crush that. He’s going to absolutely crush it while the part of his brain that enjoys pain cackles. 

“O-okay,” and god dammit, Yoosung obliges. He walks forward slowly, still unsteady on his feet from crunching on glass. 

"Do you want to go outside again tonight?" Saeran reaches into his back pocket, pricks himself on the tip of the needle and winces. Yoosung notices, tilts his head and whispers a quiet "yeah.” 

Unknown grabs Yoosung’s bruised forearm, using his weak spot to forcefully move Yoosung. He fails again, though, too weak to push him down onto the bed. 

"Be a good boy, Yoosung," he says, standing in front of Yoosung and edging him close enough to the bed the back of his knees hit it and he has no choice but to sit down. It wasn’t throwing him down on the bed like Unknown intended, but it’s good enough. Saeran awkwardly climbs onto his lap and pushes Yoosung down with a jab of his thin fingers into his pet’s soft tummy.

Yoosung notices the injection right away, eyes widening, mouth voicing objections, but Saeran can’t listen to those. He frowns and presses on, covering Yoosung’s mouth with one hand.

Saeran holds up the camera, listens for the click of the shutter before before he realizes he can't force the injection on Yoosung with one hand and he drops the camera.

"Mmmph, you d-don't have to! P-please!" he begs, voice muffled "I d-don't want it!"

They make eye contact for a brief moment. Guilt overrides his senses, his training, his obligation for his duty, and his arm slackens. 

"You know I have to," Saeran whispers.

As if understanding that this was his chance, Yoosung reaches out, stealing the needle from Saeran’s loose grip. Saeran tries to liberate it. They end up in some kind of mini wrestle as Yoosung writhes and twists under him, holding the needle steadfast, like a lifeline. One wrong move, Saeran thinks as they scuffle, and one of them is getting impaled. 

Instead, Yoosung bucks his hips enough to push Saeran off. Light and weak as he is, Saeran tumbles off the bed, onto the floor, and before he knows what’s going on, the sound of smashing glass passes his ears.

No.

"I don't want it!" Yoosung wails, chest heaving from adrenaline.

Saeran blinks. Did... did that just happen? He'd be proud if he wasn't so shocked that Yoosung stood up for himself.

"You fucking dumbass!" Unknown screams, pulling himself onto the bed.  "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Those words don’t have the ferocity he feels inside. 

That was the last injection. That means…

The sentences fizzle as he struggles to form them in his brain. 

"I d-didn't want it!" 

"That was the last one!" Unknown climbs off and walks over to the shattered injection, splattered on the wall. He reaches out and touches it with his fingers, then brings it to his lips. It tastes metallic and dirty but... it's all he has left. He almost wants to lick the residue off the wall. He almost wants to make Yoosung do that.

He hasn't talked to his saviour in five days, and now he has no more doses. What happens now?

"What d-does that mean?" Yoosung asks, as if Saeran has the answer. 

Up until this point, Unknown didn't believe that he had been abandoned, but standing here, watching the pinkish liquid trail down the wall and soak into the carpet makes everything feel final. 

"I... I don't know." 

His knees feel weak, his stomach heavy. He hasn’t eaten yet; his stomach had been tumultuous with acid, and now it feels like it’s transformed into rocks, laden, holding him down so he has no choice but to slump to the dirty carpet. 

"What now?" Saeran asks. "There's nothing left."

"Saeran...?" Yoosung says slowly.

“I hate the way you say my name,” Saeran murmurs, voice so low it could be inaudible. "Leave me alone.”

Yoosung sits at the edge of the bed, watches Saeran with the same look someone would give an injured wolf. Pity, but with a hint of wariness, like he doesn’t know if the wolf is strong enough to attack.

"Saeran..." he repeats.

"Leave me alone!" Saeran can feel Yoosung’s pitying eyes on him even when he looks away. It's how everyone used to look at him before they learned to fear him.

Apparently Yoosung decides the wolf is too weak to bite, so he slides onto the floor and crosses his legs. He’s still far enough away from Saeran that he doesn’t have to move.

"No," Yoosung says.

"I hate you. You ruined everything." It’s childish but Saeran doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know how to process these emotions, so he’s churning out insults and anger. It’s all he knows.

Yoosung ruined his plan back at the castle when he tackled him to the floor, and now he's ruined it again. Damn kid can be so impulsive.

"You... you don't mean that." Yoosung says it with a certainty that’s annoying.

Saeran doesn't mean it. Yoosung’s right, but he won't acknowledge that. 

"I hate you," he repeats, "and I mean it."

Yoosung scoots forward.

"Why?" 

"Do I need a reason?" With every answer, Yoosung gets closer. Panic builds within Saeran. He turns his body away, plasters himself against the wall. "You're annoying, and you try too hard."

"I'm sorry," Yoosung whispers. "I... I just want to help."

"Why? That's the most annoying thing. Why do you want to help?" 

Yoosung looks down at his hands, fidgeting.

"I don't know. I know that I shouldn’t, but… I care about you."

"Well, stop it. I'm not some sick puppy you can fix with cuddles and love, okay?"

Saeran tries contemplates his next steps, but all he can imagine is miles of darkness, and it makes him feel like he’s drowning.

"I can't just stop caring about you," Yoosung says quietly. "And that means I want to help. Tell me what to do, Saeran. Tell me how I can help." His voice is getting a little more desperate.

"Shouldn't you think about yourself? I'm going to kill you, you know."

Saeran rubs his eyes. He's not crying, but they ache, and he wonders if it's because he hasn't eaten or drank anything today. 

Yoosung shrugs, still not looking up.

"But you haven’t. I just... I just want you to be okay."

"You don't care if I kill you, but fucking you is over the line?" Saeran laughs bitterly and looks over at Yoosung, but he's more preoccupied with his own lap and his fidgeting fingers. Yoosung flinches.

"I... I don't... f... fu... doing that to me wouldn't help you feel better."

"Wouldn't it?" Saeran cocks his head to the side. Yoosung's close enough. Saeran could teach him a lesson. He reaches out and grabs Yoosung's chin, lifting his head up to see those purple eyes. "Wanna try and see?"

Yoosung has no choice but to look at him. 

"You don't really want to," he whispers, a challenge.

"But I do. Everything about you is fuckable." Saeran licks his lips slowly and spends too much time staring at Yoosung's face.  Yoosung leans back slightly, meekly. What happened to the strength he saw in Yoosung earlier when he ripped the injection away from him?

"You... you wouldn't," he says, with a little less certainty.

"You haven't kissed anyone, right? What would you do if I stole that from you?"

Sure, Yoosung is leaning away, but he isn't resisting.

"I... I..." Yoosung gulps. "Y-you wouldn't do that, either," he says. 

Saeran leans forward until their noses touch. He's staring into Yoosung’s fear filled eyes so intently that he can practically read the word 'no' written in them. Saeran’s  close enough that their breath is intermingling, but he doesn't move any further.

A thought crosses his mind.

"Yoosung..." Saeran breathes in a sultry voice. "Do you remember where I put my gun?"

Yoosung's breath catches in his throat. It must be uncomfortable leaning like he is, angled as far away from Saeran as he can.

"N-no," he stammers, looking completely fearful that Saeran’s going to use that gun on him.

Saeran pushes himself to his feet, using the wall for leverage. He tries to think. Where did he leave it? It’s not as if it had many bullets. It was usually a scare tactic. He hated loud noises, and the boom of the gun and the subsequent ringing in his ears reminded him of a time where he wasn’t in control.The last time he remembers having his gun was in the car driving here. Maybe he should check there.

He's feeling strangely calm. Usually, just thinking about the gun makes his hands quiver. Saeran hates it, he hates the way it feels when he holds it, and he hates the way he’s seen other Mint Eye members use it. It’s personal preference. Saeran likes blood and crying, but he hates gore, viscera, bones exploding. Not for him. 

Even monsters can classify what they’re okay with, he supposes.

Yoosung looks at him frightfully, like he’s truly worried Saeran’s going to use that gun for torture. There’s a leaden weight in Saeran’s chest, rooting him in place as they make eye contact. Why did he even grab this kid to begin with? Even Saeran knew the chances of returning to Mint Eye were slim, but he had thought maybe if he brought a prize… if he brought Yoosung, the one the Saviour always talks about…

Now, there’s no more injections. Yoosung will be fine, but Saeran… he’s been on this injection for so long that he isn’t sure what going without will to do him. 

There’s really nothing left. Even though Saeran hates the idea of guns, hates the idea of using a gun on himself, it’s probably the only option. There’s only an endless expanse of darkness. Saeran always saw his mission as his segue into deliverance; that once he completed what the Saviour tasked him with, that he’d die peacefully and enter Paradise.

Not like the one she was advertising to members. No, there was a special one for him, for recruiters. 

Maybe it was just to keep his tainted hands away from the actual members. Without his Saviour to guide him, without the drugs or magenta, and without a mission, he really had nothing left to accomplish. Even getting revenge on Luciel wasn't enough anymore.

Saeran barely feels tentative fingers wrap around his wrist and tug him as he makes his way to the door. When did he stand up? He can't recall. 

"W-what are you doing?"

"I'm going to find the gun," Saeran states blankly.

"For what?!" Yoosung squeaks.

"To use?" Usually he'd sneer but he doesn't have it in him right now.

"Y-you... t-to use on what?"

"Myself."

"No." Yoosung tightens his grip and tugs him closer. "Absolutely f-fu… f-fucking not.”

Saeran’s never seen that look in his eyes before, a mix of disdain and determination. That was oddly forceful for Yoosung's standards. Saeran resists Yoosung's tug and starts walking forward, determined to drag Yoosung with him if it requires that; he’s fairly sure that, with the way things have been going, he’d never make it past the bedroom anyway. There’s no strength left. 

"You don't get a say." His own voice sounds weirdly dead, even to his own ears.

"No," Yoosung repeats, more forcefully this time. "You're not doing that."

"I'll give you the car keys before I do it," Saeran offers. "There's enough gas to get you back to town."

"No." Yoosung yanks Saeran back and steps to the side, blocking the door. "Do whatever the fuck you want to me, I don't... but don't do this. Please, Saeran. P-please." Yoosung’s voice cracks on the last word.

Saeran narrows his eyes. He wants to deconstruct Yoosung, figure out why the fuck he cares so much about the person torturing him, but he can’t. So, he tries to tug his wrist out of Yoosung’s grip, but his arms feel equivalent to cooked spaghetti noodles. 

"I'm not interested in fucking right now," Saeran says, sounding bored. That has to be why Yoosung’s stopping him. Logically, it makes no sense, but Saeran isn’t considering logic right now. He’s latching onto reasons. Why is Yoosung freaking out? "I already told you this, Yoosung. Once I'm done my mission, I disappear."

Yoosung yells again, words that mean nothing to Saeran. There’s movement Saeran’s brain can’t process, neurons firing at a sloth-like rate. Before he knows it, the back of his skull cracks against the wall, right beside the door frame. Yoosung must have figured out he’s stronger. Smart puppy.

"I promised I wouldn't leave you, and now y-you have to promise you won't leave m-me."

"Heh, I didn't know you had it in you." Saeran smirks, then grimaces at the pain in the back of his head. He hadn't expected Yoosung to react like this. There’s a dull ache on the back of his head, but it’s nothing a bullet couldn't solve.

"I don't care anymore!" Yoosung yells. "I don't care what you do to me, or how you hurt me, or how you m-make me feel like shit sometimes. I don't care. I just... I can’t watch anyone d-die." Whatever ferocity Yoosung had conjured fizzes out with those final words that sound so desolate. The leaden weights in Saeran’s stomach double, making it difficult to breathe. Or… maybe that’s just the way Yoosung’s pinning him to the wall.

Saeran lifts one hand and cradles Yoosung's cheek.

"I can't keep my promises, don't you remember that? You can't trust me."

"N-no, I don't believe that," Yoosung says, tears marring his skin. Yoosung had done such a good job of not crying lately. Saeran can barely believe this is what made him cry, out of everything. 

"Please don't die, Saeran," he croaks out. "I... I don't know what I'd d-do if you did."

Yoosung never reacts like this to save himself, but he does when Saeran is about to hurt himself?

"You'd go back to school, and become a vet," Saeran answers. "And you'll forget about being kidnapped."

Yoosung shakes his head.

"N-no. I'll never f-forget you."

"Yoosung, what do you want from me?" It’s the second time Saeran’s had to ask. He has no idea what this kid wants, and if he knew, he’d deliver it so he could be alone again. Saeran’s begging. Can Yoosung not see that?

Yoosung's head drops like it weighs too much, and he looks down at their feet. He doesn't move his hands from Saeran's shoulders. 

"I... I just..." He swallows and tries again. "I just want you to b-be okay."

"I'll be fine,” Saeran promises, but it's an empty promise. Like all the others he's made.

"You're lying," Yoosung hisses through clenched teeth. He looks back up at Saeran pleadingly. "Please, Saeran. Please, j-just... just don't die."

"Do you want to look at the stars?" Saeran asks. He has no response to Yoosung's request, so he changes the subject.

"I..." Yoosung blinks at him in surprise.  "Yes."

***

The feeling of the cool grass on Saeran’s skin is weirdly comforting. He hasn't been to his safe space in years, but in these past few days, he's taken Yoosung here twice. It's a good space; it feels like lies don't exist here. Maybe it's because the stars are watching.

Saeran wants to say something to Yoosung; he wanted to the entire silent walk over, but now that he's seated on the grass and staring at the sky, he's not only left speechless, but breathless as well.

He can feel Yoosung’s eyes on him. There’s a certain weight to his stare, hopeful and naïve. 

"Are you okay?"

"I guess," Saeran answers noncommittally.  "Are you?"

Yoosung swallows. 

"Y-yeah, I'm just... worried about you."

"Yoosung, what's your happiest memory?" Saeran asks.

It’s obvious the question surprises Yoosung from the way he pauses.

"Oh... um... I don't know. I guess... I have a lot of happy memories." He pauses to think. "Maybe... when I found out I got my scholarship... Oh, and my twentieth birthday was fun. I saw my family during the day, and then went out with all my friends." He pauses. "I... I don't really know if I have anything that... stands out, I guess."

Saeran can feel his anxiety welling up inside him. It's familiar and horrifying. It makes his chest feel unnecessarily tight and not at all, in the same way being close to Yoosung does.

"You... you have that many?" Saeran is shocked.

"Yeah..." Yoosung studies Saeran's face closely under the moonlight. "What's your happiest memory?" he asks carefully.

"The day I got ice cream with Saeyoung," Saeran says, but with the tightness in his chest, it physically hurts to speak. "Last night I remembered another. That's why I asked you to sing."

Yoosung inches closer until their knees touch. He looks like he’s trying to divide his time between staring at Saeran and staring at the sky, and staring at Saeran is winning. Guess that’s what happens when you’re sitting next to a bomb. Who knows when Saeran will explode next? He doesn’t even know himself. 

"What did you remember?" Yoosung whispers.

For the first time since they got out here, Saeran turns to Yoosung.  He lifts one hand and rubs the marks Yoosung left on his shoulder when he pinned him.

"That hurt, you know," he says, gesturing to his shoulders. "I remembered when our mother didn't hit us, and sang to us instead."

Yoosung looks at Saeran’s shoulder guiltily and shuffles closer.  

"Oh... oh God, I'm so sorry," he says. He starts reaching a hand out, but pulls it back. 

Saeran catches Yoosung's hand before he has a chance to pull it too far away.

"I want you to leave," Saeran says, but it isn't with hatred or malice, and it isn't a lie either. "The keys are in the ignition."

"But... but I promised I wouldn't," Yoosung weakly protests, eyes gliding to the darkness where the driveway should be. "I don't want to."

"I own you, right?" Saeran responds harshly. "Then be a good boy and get away from me. Please."

"No... I won't. I don't want to. I don’t want to be the reason you-”

"Yoosung, this is the end of the road." Saeran rests his head in his hands. He's not interested in seeing Yoosung cry again, especially not with this feeling bubbling inside him. He thought it would go away once he got to his safe space, but... it didn't.

"Saeran." Yoosung stresses his name. "I d-don't want to leave you. It's not... it's not the end." 

"I can't take you to Paradise… I couldn't even if I wanted to." Saeran’s been thinking it, but admitting it makes it feel so real. His stomach turns at the realization. 

"I don't care," Yoosung says, and he tugs Saeran’s hands away from his face, fingers sliding along Saeran’s palms. "I really d-don't care. I don't want to go there if you're not there too."

"But... the Saviour. S-she wanted you there. You're supposed to fix broken people.” 

Saeran isn't as aware of his words as he is of Yoosung's hands in his. It feels different from all the other times he's held Yoosung. His skin is tingling and his heart is pounding, and he just wants to die. Every reaction his body has right now is one of aversion, one that leads to but a single road. 

Saeran can feel tears prickling the corners of his eyes, so he lets his head hang and closes his eyes.

"I don't care what she wants. I... you're the one I want to help. I... I want to be w-wherever you are. P-please look at me," Yoosung whispers.

Lifting his head requires strength Saeran isn't sure he has 

"I can't," Saeran responds.

Yoosung slowly lets go of Saeran's wrist and places his hand under his chin, gently lifting his head to look at him. 

"I'm not leaving you," Yoosung says quietly but firmly.

Whatever he's feeling, it's being fueled by Yoosung. Saeran doesn't want to snap and hurt him again. He doesn't want to hurt anyone, so he thinks the best course of action is to move away. But his body isn't responding, and as much as he wants to look away, he's just staring in awe at Yoosung, because try as he might, Saeran sees no lies reflected in Yoosung's eyes.

Nervously, he licks his lips.

"I promised I wouldn't leave, and I... I really meant it. I still do. I c-can't... I can't imagine going anywhere without you anymore. I... I care about you and I don't want to leave. Even if y-you tell me to leave, I don't know if I could."

"C-can I touch your skin?"

Yoosung’s eyes widen, like he didn’t expect that, even though Saeran’s made it pretty obvious. There’s something meaningful in the way Yoosung looks at him, head tilted to the side, lips curved into a small smile. He’s figured something out. He’s figured something out without Saeran. 

“Yes.” 

Saeran snakes his hand up Yoosung's shirt until his hand is sitting comfortably on his waist. Then he tugs slightly, encouraging Yoosung to get closer. Yoosung obliges.

"You're so soft," Saeran murmurs. His skin feels just as good as last night. It wasn't a fluke. It wasn’t just something Saeran convinced himself in a moment of weakness.

Yoosung's hand slowly slides so he's cupping Saeran's face. There’s no more room for Yoosung to lean over. He’s already propped himself up on his knees sometime when Saeran was distracted. He’s leaning over Saeran’s crossed legs, thumb stroking over Saeran’s cheekbones. It’s easy to forget everything when he’s touched like that. Saeran fights the urge to close his eyes, mesmerized by the way Yoosung’s staring at him. 

Saeran’s skin feels scorched wherever Yoosung touches him, but it isn’t painful. It’s heart wrenching. He's sure his face was red from how hot he’s feeling, but he doesn't care. 

Then, suddenly, Yoosung inhales sharply and blurts out, "I like you."

Hearing Yoosung’s words made Saeran's heart skip a beat. He wasn't sure what it meant, but Yoosung said it with such sincerity. 

"Does that mean we're friends?" Saeran whispers quietly.

Yoosung looks blindsided. He stares at Saeran’s cheeks. Saeran tries not to let the broken eye contact bother him. Yoosung takes in another breath, a huge gulp of air. 

"N-no, I mean... I mean... I like you."

The deliberate way Yoosung emphasizes the word 'like' must mean something important. He didn't say they were friends, but he said he liked him. What did that mean? 

"I don't know what that means," Saeran says softly, sounding ashamed.

No one has ever told him that before. He knows what the word means, of course, but he's not sure of Yoosung's use of it.

Yoosung opens his mouth, but no coherent words come out. 

"I... I mean..." He pauses and swallows. "C-can I... can I...?" He looks frustrated as he shifts his weight on his knees. 

"Can you what?" 

"Can... can I... kiss you?" Yoosung breathes.

Saeran blinks. He isn't sure he heard Yoosung right. No one's ever kissed Yoosung before...

"Are you sure?" Saeran asks, but he's tugging Yoosung closer. He wants Yoosung on his lap. He wants Yoosung as close as physically possible.

Yoosung nods. 

"C-can I?"

"Yes." Saeran breathes, and he feels like his heart is going to explode. It's beating so fast.

Yoosung leans in a little further. He can feel Yoosung's breath on his lips and his heart is beating so fast he feels like it might fall out of his chest. Purple eyes flutter closed just as Saeran’s lungs fail him. Yoosung’s getting so close…

And then it happens. Saeran feels Yoosung’s lips brush against his, barely there, warm breath ghosting over his skin. Saeran can feel everything and nothing simultaneously. He freezes, not sure exactly what is expected of him, and he’s rendered immobile.

Should he close his eyes? No one has ever been so close to his face before. He’s never seen someone be so vulnerable around him. This is different from all the times  he dominated people. This is... willing. Yoosung wants this, he literally asked permission. Why did he want to give his first kiss to Saeran, and not MC?

Saeran grips Yoosung's hips and tries to pull him onto his lap without breaking their kiss. It causes Yoosung to press his lips harder against Saeran's, compensating for Saeran’s lack of strength by climbing onto his lap. Nothing has ever felt more exhilarating.

Saeran understands something new now. He sees why people kiss. This feels... this feels like a connection he’s never had before. Their lips smack softly. Yoosung’s are chapped. Saeran’s probably are, too. But he isn’t paying attention to it. Saeran isn’t paying attention to much of anything besides the way Yoosung feels, sitting on his lap, their lips moving together in a way that could only be described as clumsy.

Clumsy and inexperienced, yet perfect.

Yoosung moves his hands round and gently slides them into Saeran's hair. It's electrifying. It’s a feeling he already enjoys - a feeling Yoosung knows he enjoys - combined with their kiss. If he had use of his mouth, he probably would've gasped. He probably did gasp into their kiss. He isn't sure.

Yoosung is so attentive. He listens to Saeran. He knows how he wants to be touched. Saeran had never known a kiss could feel this good.

Saeran slides his hands up Yoosung's back and gently glides his nails back down, not enough to scratch or even mark. He’s rewarded with a shiver. He’s seen Yoosung shiver before, but now he can feel it, gently moving against his body. Yoosung whimpers into the kiss.

Yoosung makes such sweet noises. Saeran wants to taste them all. Up until now, he's only heard Yoosung's wails of desperation, but Saeran wants to hear all other types of sounds. He wants Yoosung to sound desperate for... something else. 

Their kiss is messy. Yoosung's so gentle that Saeran doesn't want to ruin that. He wants everything Yoosung will give him, but he doesn't want to push, so he lets Yoosung set the pace instead.

After a few moments, they’re forced to break for air. The kiss was soft and gentle, but he's never experienced something so intense before in his entire life. He's panting heavily, and he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He slowly opens his eyes to look at Yoosung.

"Is this okay?" Yoosung breathes against Saeran's lips. Saeran can feel the way his lips move as he speaks, small movements that are tantalizing. They want to draw him in for another kiss before Saeran comes down from the high of the experience.

Saeran tries to find words, tries to answer Yoosung’s question, but he can’t stop thinking about his lips. Saeran wants to lean forward and capture them again. 

Something’s holding him back.

"Saeran?" Yoosung whispers. "Are you okay?"

Saeran's mind is swimming, and each time his heart beats against his ribcage, it's painful. He feels Yoosung pull away and his arms tighten instinctively, but he feels overstimulated. He doesn't want Yoosung to move, but at the same time, he wants to get far away from him.

No one has ever been so gentle before, and it's panic-inducing. Saeran eyes aren't focusing. He's staring at the patch of grass beside them, not at Yoosung. Everything feels blurry, and it's likely because his heart is racing so fast he feels like he's going to vomit.

He loosens his grip on Yoosung and leans forward, resting his head on Yoosung's chest, and he takes deep breaths, trying to even his breathing and slow his heart rate.

He's vaguely aware that Yoosung has spoken since the time their lips spent apart, but he isn't even sure of what was said. Before he even realizes it, he's crying.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author note from Blackprose: Thanks to everyone sticking with the story and your wonderful comments. This can honestly be challenging to write sometimes, so I am glad there are people enjoying it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! This chapter and the next one took a lot of work! It's hard translating an rp to a story sometimes ;)
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy ~

"S-Saeran?" 

No response.

"I-I'm sorry," Yoosung chokes out, biting his lip to try and stop his own tears falling. "I th-thought..." 

Yoosung has no idea what came over him. Saeran looked so… human. He didn’t look like the person who took him. He looked like a lost soul, someone who felt they had absolutely no one in the world. Yoosung knew what that felt like. He knew it all too well since Rika’s suicide. 

Then…

Yoosung felt something. He knew Saeran was attractive. He could see that. He didn’t even think about kissing him until Saeran had mentioned it, and then when Saeran nervously licked his lips, Yoosung couldn’t stop thinking about it. The idea nested in his mind as he was trying to convince Saeran to stay with him. It nestled deeper and deeper until it unearthed feelings that had been steadily building up within him.

Each night, when Saeran shows Yoosung his true face, when Saeran turns gentle and lets Yoosung hold him and sing to him; each night Saeran touches his skin with such reverence, Yoosung feels holy…

No one has ever given Yoosung that type of affection. 

Yoosung should’ve known from the beginning what this would turn into. He can barely stop himself from developing a crush on the first person that’s nice to him, and now he’s developing feelings for someone who cries in his arms. Someone who genuinely needs him.

Except now, Yoosung’s messed it all up. He kissed Saeran, he moved into Saeran’s lap when he thought that was what he wanted, and now Saeran’s crying, loud and staggering, like he can’t catch his breath.

Yoosung has no idea what to do, so he continues stroking Saeran’s hair, moving from a passionate tug to a light pet. There, there. 

"I… I… I, I, I, I, I...” Saeran’s stuttering, trying to catch his breath as he soaks the front of Yoosung’s red shirt with alligator tears. “I l-like you, too..." 

Yoosung's eyes spring open at Saeran's muffled words. Saeran isn't used to affection. That's why he's crying - not because he didn't want to kiss him. Yoosung feels like he could laugh in relief.

"Th-thank God," he breathes, clutching Saeran a little more tightly, still running his fingers through his hair.

"I don't... I d-don't know w-what to d-do," Saeran cries, running his hands up and down Yoosung’s back as if the answers were written there in Braille.

"You don't have to do anything," Yoosung says softly. "You just... just... do what feels right."

Yoosung can practically hear the gears turning in Saeran’s brain as he thinks silently. He tries to focus on the sky, slightly overcast tonight. He tries to focus on the trees around him, leaves rustling in a light breeze. Despite that, everything feels so still. The moment is fragile. Saeran is vulnerable and Yoosung wants to respect that.

"What now?" Saeran repeats again.

Yoosung breathes in Saeran's scent.

"Whatever you want," he whispers in response.

"C-can we kiss, again?" Saeran pulls away. His face is flushed and his nose is red from crying. 

Yoosung feels his heart jump a little and he nods, slowly leaning in again until his lips are once more pressed against Saeran's. He can taste Saeran’s tears, but he doesn't care. He wants to melt into this feeling, carve it into his memory, stop time or something equally as final, because he’s never felt so complete in his life. 

Yoosung knots his fingers tightly in Saeran's hair, unable to resist pulling him closer and pressing their lips together a little harder. Maybe he’s pulling too hard, he doesn’t know, but the way Saeran growls, husky and needy, encourages Yoosung. It isn’t a sound he’d ever thought he’d elicit from someone. It sends spears through Yoosung’s heart, prideful that he’s desirable, that Saeran wants to kiss him. 

When Saeran finally breaks the kiss, he continues littering Yoosung's lips with small, quick pecks. It’s such a pleasant contrast to the way Saeran is during the day. Yoosung can't help but giggle at the feeling and the absolute, overwhelming happiness inside him right now. He hadn't expected his first kiss to be quite like this, but he's so glad it was.

Once Saeran’s kisses slow to an eventual stop, he becomes shy again, cheeks red enough that the lightest smattering of freckles is a visible contrast. Yoosung loves them. Did he notice before? Saeran’s not only attractive, but he’s beautiful, too.

"That was my first kiss, too," Saeran admits.

"R-really?" He doesn't know whether to be happy or shocked or upset, so he settles for a strange mixture of all three. Saeran’s definitely had sex with more than one person, and… well, based on previous conversations, it might not have always been something he wanted. So, to hear that Saeran’s saved his first kiss all this time and given it to Yoosung is...

"Why did you want that?" Saeran blurts.

"I just... I like you, Saeran. I... I more than like you." Yoosung knows he sounds like a middle-schooler right now, and he feels his face flush slightly. "I just wanted... I wanted to. I don't know why."

Saeran frowns.

"You shouldn't like me. I hurt you. I stole two precious things from you."

A kiss and then… that event.

"I... I'm glad they were with you," Yoosung fumbles, not really sure of his words but wanting to ease Saeran’s pain in any way he can. 

"I'm not," Saeran says. "I humiliated you."

"Y-you..." Yoosung can't really argue with that, and he looks down in shame. There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to think about it, but there’s also a part of him, deep down, that has to acknowledge he liked being humiliated like that. He vaguely recalls admitting it while drugged to oblivion. That didn’t count. Being sober and thinking about it hurts it in a way he can’t describe, like someone’s clawing at his insides. 

What kind of person enjoys something like that?

"Listen, Yoosung, there are other sides of me, and... the bad side did that."

Yoosung gives him a small nod, embarrassed. 

"I know," Yoosung says quietly. "I... I figured that out pretty early on."

"Well, the next time I do that, it'll be..." 

Yoosung feels his heart jump a little at the concept of 'next time,’ and he appreciates the excuse to divert his thoughts away from unpleasant experiences.

"Okay," he says quickly. "I trust you."

"I've done nothing to earn that," Saeran responds. "Do you still want to look at the sky?"

There’s not much Yoosung can say. He’s always given his trust freely, even to people who didn’t deserve it. Friends would tell him all the time in high school not to let people walk all over him, but… Yoosung wants to see the best in people. It takes a lot to change that, and… Saeran seems apologetic. And about the time Saeran forced...

Yoosung doesn’t want to think about that. Better to forget.

"Yeah... if you want to."

"You'll need to get off my lap, then." Saeran flashes a small grin before leaning back and using his hands to hold himself up.

"Oh... okay, sorry," Yoosung says with a small giggle as he rolls off Saeran's lap to sit next to him.

Saeran lays down onto the cool grass. He watches the night sky, unblinking, tapping his pouted lips with the pads of his fingers. Yoosung lies down carefully next to him, and he can't help but smile as he watches Saeran. Yoosung can still feel the ghost of Saeran's lips against his.

"What happens tomorrow?" Saeran asks, words slow and hesitant.

"I... I don't know," he says quietly. "I just hope you're... you."

He doesn't know what will happen if he wakes up and Saeran is the angry, uncontrolled person he can be during the day. What will he do to Yoosung after tonight? Yoosung has no idea, but hopes this means Saeran will trust him more moving forward.

"How do I know which one is the real me?" Saeran asks. It’s rhetorical. He lifts his hand up to the sky, palm open like he’s trying to capture the stars. "I don't know anymore."

Yoosung can't take his eyes off Saeran. It’s like if he looks away he’ll lose the person in front of him and a demon will take its place. 

"You... you can be whichever you want," Yoosung says quietly. "You just... you just have to decide which one you want to be."

"Stay away from me in the morning." Saeran clenches his hand into a fist and lets it fall back to his side. "I don't know what I'll do to you."

Yoosung feels his heart drop a little, but he reaches out and takes Saeran's hand in his own. 

"I... I hope you stay like this," he says quietly. "If you don't, I'll try and help."

"No, you shouldn't help." Despite his forceful words, Saeran accepts Yoosung’s hand and squeezes it lightly. "I'll just hurt you."

Yoosung bites his lip. "I... I can't just leave you, though. I want... I want to try and help you get back to being in control of yourself."

"I can't promise I won't hurt you," Saeran says. "Right now, I don't want to hurt you... but what about when I do?"

"It's nothing I can't handle. You... you said you've seen my browser history, right?" he says, attempting to lighten the mood with a joke. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the right time for that kind of thing.

Saeran tilts his head, an unreadable expression on his face that makes Yoosung regret his joke. Then Saeran sits up and pivots his hips until he’s facing Yoosung.  He steals Yoosung’s hand again, opening his palm and uses the same finger that was just touching his own lips to touch Yoosung’s skin. 

"I have. You watch a lot of porn. And you search the weirdest things."

Yoosung gulps and feels his face flush. "I... umm... like what?"

"It seems like you just search whatever's on your mind. Like that one day you searched Shoujo manga recommendations and how to make coffee taste good."

Yoosung lets out a soft laugh. "You looked through all that? Wasn't it boring?"

"It didn't matter if it was boring." Saeran laces his fingers together. "It was my job to learn about you."

"Why?" he asks quietly, squeezing Saeran's hand a little more tightly. "I still don't understand why you had to specifically target the RFA."

"I was asked to," Saeran answers. "Do you like being part of the RFA?"

Yoosung wonders if he's wandering into dangerous territory, but... no. He trusts Saeran. 

"I do," he says.

"Oh."

Luckily, Saeran doesn’t sound mad, just surprised. 

"I know you hate them. I just... they feel almost like family to me."

"I don't have any family," Saeran says softly. He pulls his hand away from Yoosung and ruffles it through his hair. Saeran’s emotions eke out in his body language, and right now that gesture is telling Yoosung just how nervous he is. That must be why Saeran appears undecided about whether he’d like to hold Yoosung’s hand.

"What... what happened with your brother?" Yoosung asks, and then quickly adds, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I already told you, Yoosung. He abandoned me," Saeran says. It’s the first time he sounds anything other than calm and soft. It almost makes Yoosung panic, creates an uncomfortable fluttering feeling in his chest. Yoosung doesn’t want to trigger him any further. He’s made enough progress for one night. However, Yoosung was never known for letting things go when he saw an opening.

"I just... I wasn't sure if there was any more to it."

"There isn't. Stop asking. Do you want to go inside now?" Saeran starts to stand, causing Yoosung to scramble forward, placing a hand on his thigh. A bold move, considering this is the most they’ve touched in the last few days. Yoosung isn’t sure if he’s overstepped a boundary until he sees Saeran plop back down on the grass. 

"Wait, Saeran..." Yoosung says quietly but urgently, sitting up and gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let’s stay here.”

Saeran hunches his shoulders, body language defensive. Yoosung doesn’t move his hand. If Saeran was afraid or angry, he’d already have moved Yoosung’s hand anyway, so Yoosung just needs to take this slow.

After a few tense seconds, Saeran visibly relaxes.

"Can you sing for me, again? I want to fall asleep to your voice."

It’s so earnest. Saeran sounds different when he’s speaking his mind.  

"Of course. Do you... do you want me to right now?"

Saeran scoots closer, like a pouting child.

"Yeah... can I lay my head on your lap?"

Yoosung gives him a small smile. This all feels so surreal. 

"Yes."

Saeran moves slowly and hesitantly, eyes watching Yoosung as he moves. This is new territory for both of them. Yoosung tries not to think about how intimate this is. Saeran is using his thighs as pillows. Yoosung's hand finds its way to Saeran's fluffy white hair.

"Do you want the same song?" he asks quietly. Saeran nods. "Okay." 

He sings the lullaby from last night, his songbook of lullabies consisting of only one tune. He gently pushes Saeran's hair out of his face, off of his forehead. Yoosung's heart is beating so fast right now, but he also feels... calm. It's strange how much things have changed over just a few days.

Eventually, Saeran shifts to lie on his stomach and wraps his arms around Yoosung's waist, resting his head on Yoosung’s squishy stomach instead, dangerously close to between his legs. 

Yoosung tries not to think about it. It's not like the thought is turning him on, but... no one's ever put their face there before. It's hard to think about anything else. What's wrong with him? 

"You should lie down now, too," Saeran murmurs sleepily, jolting Yoosung out of his perverted thoughts. "It's time for bed "

"Okay, yeah," he whispers, and he slowly lies down until he's on his back. Saeran's resting higher on his stomach now. Phew. 

"Your stomach is making noises," Saeran says, as if he’s never laid his head on someone before. "Is that normal?"

Yoosung can't help but let out a small giggle.

"Yeah, it is," he says quietly. "What noises is it making?"

"I don't know,  gurgles and stuff… Why are you laughing?"

Yoosung bites his lip for a second, grinning. 

"I dunno. It just... it seems funny."

"Whatever," Saeran pouts dejectedly. "Go to sleep, Yoosung."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end of the series! No need to panic. [Click here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13632180/chapters/31304034) for the next title in the series, following the story where this left off!


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